Jack's Lucky Night
by Su Freund
Summary: Jack gets a lucky break when he meets a woman at Carter's engagement celebration. This series, set in Season 8, tells the story of that relationship and Jack's continuing friendship with his former team. Please note this series is a Jack,Other pairing.
1. Jack's Lucky Night

Title: Jack's Lucky Night

Author: Su Freund

E-mail: See bio

Website: www ficwithfins com (insert . instead of spaces in the address)

Category: Romance, with a small amount of angst, drama, and sexual situations

Content Level: Age 13+ There is an Adult Only version of this story on my site so if you want to read that, access the address above and look for the direct link in the What's New section on the main index page

Content Warnings: Sexual situations with a bit of mild language thrown in. The Jack/Sam element of story is very brief. It is definitely a Jack/Other fic. You have been warned!

Pairings: Jack/Sam, Jack/Other

Season: 8

Spoilers: Affinity

Summary: At Carter's engagement celebration, Jack meets another woman

Sequel/Series Info: None

Status: Complete

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2006 Su Freund

Author's Note: 1. This story results from a personal challenge to me on the Jackfic Yahoo Group, where I was dared to write a Jack/Other fic. How could I refuse such a challenge? Particularly because at least one of the people involved thought that hell would freeze over before I would write such a fic! So, I guess thanks are due to both Sheryl and Flatkatsi for the original inspiration. That is, if I should be grateful at all for them distracting my muse:-)

2. The story also meets the requirements of fic Challenge 28 on the As the Stargate Turns Yahoo Group (issued on 18 Feb), to write a drabble or fic using the line "stress is when you wake up screaming and then realise you haven't fallen asleep yet" and/or the word 'antenna'. This uses both.

3. As with my other challenge fics, this story has not been beta read, so I hope I haven't made too many blunders.

**Jack's Lucky Night**

Jack O'Neill had a very active libido. He was a man's man but did alright with women too. More than alright, actually. He'd never needed to go without female company, or sex. Gruff as he might seem, he could charm the pants off almost any women if he set his mind to it, and he was planning to do exactly that tonight. Right now, Jack was feeling lonesome and horny and was on the prowl.

He probably didn't need to prowl that far. There were many attractive women in the bar he was currently frequenting. Carter was looking happy and smiley, hanging onto Pete Shannahan's arm, and that only made him more determined to find someone to take his mind off their recent engagement.

To be honest, although the fact that she'd started going out with Pete, and their subsequent engagement, pissed him off a little, Jack had never expected anything to actually happen between the two of them, so he was vaguely happy that she'd got a life at last and found someone to settle down with. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel a spark of envy for Shannahan. Lucky bastard!

Although Jack hankered after her - more than that if he were truthful with himself, which he all too often tried not to be – he believed that there was no way in hell he and Carter were suited and he hadn't exactly been a saint, waiting faithfully in the wings for Samantha Carter.

There'd been a quite a few women in his life since Sara had left. Not during the marriage, as Jack was more or less a one-woman man, and not immediately after they'd parted, as he'd been too hurt at first. Nevertheless, quite a few. Not right now, though, and he needed sex, if nothing else. More than that would be good, but sex would do for starters.

So, he was most definitely on the prowl, and stood slightly apart from his crowd of colleagues, friends and acquaintances, eyeing the local talent.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

The husky, sexy voice interrupted his musings and Jack turned to face the woman who had spoken, eyebrows rising towards the heavens with pleasant surprise. The woman asking him that question was hot! How had he missed this one? He figured his usually acute antenna must be malfunctioning right now. It was probably down to all this nonsense with Carter and Shannahan: messing with his game.

Jack quickly searched her face, looking her over and considering his response. She didn't look like a slut. Indeed, she was beautiful, and dressed demurely rather than to kill, without too much make up or any of the other signs he might have expected from a woman who was trying to pick him up.

Tall and lean, her long dark, but perfectly coiffed, hair framed a delicate, porcelain face that was decorated with a hint of blusher, lipstick and mascara, and he detected some flawlessly applied, and barely perceptible, eye shadow that accentuated her large dark eyes. Those eyes were very dark indeed, almost black; soulful windows to what might be a very interesting soul.

She wore a black suit with a short, but not too short, skirt, which he believed was probably an expensive designer label. Its faultless fit, and luxurious fabric, highlighted her attractively curvaceous body. Jack suspected that she was athletic and muscular beneath that alluring clothing.

Under the suit, she appeared to be wearing nothing but a small cream camisole top and he idly wondered if he was going to get the opportunity to see and feel the flesh below later on, deducing that this might be her intention. The notion was titillating in the extreme. He imagined softly caressing that soft, pale skin, kissing those luscious red lips, stripping her slowly and making love to her all night long, or as often as he was able. She seemed the kind of woman who might make him very able indeed, and more than willing.

The woman was young, a lot younger than the kind of person he'd anticipated might be interested in him, and that flattered his ego. Perfect. Jack fervently wished that this wasn't too good to be true.

'Seek and ye shall find, Jack, my boy!' he thought to himself. 'And you didn't even have to make any effort, you lucky son of a gun.'

"You surely can," he responded with a grin.

They walked towards the bar together, Jack placing his hand in the small of her back to guide her through the crowd. She looked up at him, smiling, and Jack almost gasped aloud. That was quite some smile, lighting her face, if not the whole room. A woman with a great smile could get Jack O'Neill to do almost anything.

"You probably think I'm a bit forward…" she started.

"I don't mind forward. Actually, I'm flattered," he admitted disarmingly.

"I just… I've been watching you for a while and, well, I like what I saw. I don't always pick strange men up in bars."

"Bet you say that to all the guys," he joked and she released a small, almost perfectly formed laugh from deep in her throat. Sexy laugh, sexy woman. He was a made man!

"Of course I do," she replied, smiling, "When I see a man I like, I don't believe in being backwards in coming forwards." Almost cautiously, she reached for his hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze, immediately letting go again. Jack felt shivers go down his spine at her touch.

"I like that in a woman," he commented. "Not sure what you saw that you liked, but I'm not objecting to you liking it."

"You have a great smile, and wonderful eyes," she said, honestly, as they reached the bar. "What are you having?" Briefly, she turned her attention away from Jack and towards the barman.

"Budweiser?" Jack replied and she asked for the beer and a scotch on the rocks for herself, immediately turning back to give Jack her full attention after she'd placed the order.

"I'm probably a total moron for pointing this out, but aren't you a little too young for me?" Jack asked.

"You think age matters?"

"Not if you don't."

"I don't. You're a very handsome man and the silver hair looks good on you."

"Sweet! You're very frank."

"It's in my nature."

"I like that."

"Good, then we ought to get along just fine. I'm Catherine, by the way."

"Jack."

"I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, Jack."

"Likewise." He took her hand, briefly raising it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. "You are… stunningly beautiful."

"Thank you Jack," she said, and he liked the fact that she accepted the compliment gracefully, without any hint of demur; rightly in his opinion, because it was true and he was pretty sure he can't have been the first man to tell her so. "Shall we try to find seats?"

"Absolutely."

This time, he lightly grasped the top of her arm to guide her through the room and, as they walked, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Someone was watching. He turned to see Carter's eyes boring into his back, a look of surprise and, perhaps, chagrin, in her face.

'Screw you, Carter, you've made your choice,' he thought, although the idea that she might be jealous kind of thrilled him a little, but not as much as the women standing right by his side.

They found a small, empty table right at the furthest end of the room, well away from the engagement celebrations. This pleased Jack because what was happening between Catherine and him was nobody's business but theirs.

"Sorry for dragging you away from your party, Jack," Catherine said as they sat down, eyeing the friends she'd watched him talking to earlier over the other side of the bar.

"I'm not."

"Me neither, actually." She smiled brightly, and eyed him attentively. "What's the party in aid of?"

"A colleague's engagement."

"The attractive blonde?" Catherine had noticed that the blonde woman seemed to be the centre of attention so surmised, correctly, that the get together was linked to her.

"Yeah, the attractive blonde," he replied, keeping his voice level and trying to give nothing much away.

"You work together?"

"I'm her boss."

"Doing what?"

"Air Force."

"Wow, I always loved flyboys!" she exclaimed with a grin.

"General Jack O'Neill at your service, ma'am," he grinned back.

"General? I'm impressed. I caught the big fish. Where are you stationed?"

"Cheyenne Mountain."

"NORAD?"

"Kinda. We're… an offshoot," he smiled thinly. This is where she stopped being impressed and started thinking he was a boring desk jockey.

"Doing what?" she asked curiously and Jack frowned, thinking that Deep Space Radar Telemetry sounded very dull. It was getting way too old. They had to start thinking about a different cover. He determined to give that some consideration.

"A little bit of this and a little bit of that," he replied, hoping it sounded enigmatic enough to keep her interested.

"In other words, you can't tell me?"

"Um, not really," he replied, regretfully. Telling folks you saved the universe for a living would sound quite impressive but was a bit of a no, no.

"Fair enough. You must be career military, right?"

"Right. I figure I was born for the Air Force."

"You love your job. That's great."

"It has its moments."

"You must have seen some action in your time."

"Sure, but don't go painting me a hero in your head, okay?"

"Okay. I'll try to think of you as plain old Jack, the fabulously good looking guy I just picked up in a bar."

Jack laughed, moving closer to Catherine and taking hold of her hand, once more kissing it softly. As he let go, she stopped him from drawing away by placing her hand over the top of his, grasping it lightly by moving her thumb under his palm.

"That suits me fine," he replied.

"So you're the modest type, huh? Married? Kids? I guess I really ought to ask." Her eyes glistened with amusement as she spoke and Jack wondered if she really cared whether he was married or not.

"Divorced. No kids," he said.

Jack didn't mind admitting to the existence of Sara, but no way was he revealing anything about Charlie to someone who was almost a total stranger. Even most of his friends knew very little about that part of his life and, if they did, it wasn't because he had chosen for them to know. As she opened her mouth, no doubt to mutter some platitude or another, he quickly interrupted.

"It was all a very long time ago. Catherine. Nice name. Used to know a Catherine. That was a long time ago too."

"You don't like talking about yourself much, do you flyboy? Strong silent type? I like that."

"If that's the way you want to picture me, that's okay," Jack remarked, his shy grin merely serving to peak her interest all the more. "So, what about you? Tell me a little bit about you."

She picked up her glass and took a sip, eying him over its rim. Jack took the opportunity to drink some of his beer, direct from the bottle as usual, keeping her eyes locked onto his. Catherine thought that sexy. She found herself thinking that the man was very cute, with a quaint kind of charm that was pleasing to her. It was what had attracted her to him in the first place, especially the smile.

Catherine was not a man eater and had spoken truthfully when she told him that she didn't make a habit of picking up men in bars, although this certainly wouldn't be the first time, or the last. Asking a man to have a drink with her, or out on a date, or even to bed, held no fear for her, and there was something about this man, indefinable perhaps, but it was there.

Whatever that something was made her sexually attracted to him. She wasn't the type to go leaping into bed with just any man and, before she took that step, she wanted to get to know him a little better. Sexual attraction alone simply was not enough.

"Single," she replied, "although I lived with a guy for a couple of years but it didn't work out. I'm a tutor at Colorado Springs Community College. Art."

"Really? Does that mean later on you're going to invite me over to see your etchings?" Jack retorted good-humouredly and she smiled, enjoying the huge and cheeky smirk that appeared on his face as he ribbed her. She liked a man with a sense of humour. That might be the clincher for what they could end up doing together later that night.

"Maybe," she said. "I'd like to get to know you better first."

"I don't blame you, although I'm not a mad axe murderer, I swear!" he raised one hand in the air and held the other over his heart as if taking an oath.

"Shucks!" she kidded, feigning disappointment.

"I might be a teeny bit crazy, though."

"Flyboys generally are," she agreed, amiably. "I can handle the odd bit of craziness here and there."

As the night wore on, the couple continued to down a few, although not too many, drinks, convivially exchanging banter, and discovering they shared a similar sense of humour, a love of opera and classical music and, to Jack's delight, ice hockey and The Simpson's.

Each was enjoying the other's company enormously and they gradually edged closer together, increasingly intimate in their body language and conversation. Jack had his arm around her shoulder, and Catherine was stroking his forearm sensually. When a small cough interrupted them, Jack looked up, startled.

"Daniel! Hey buddy!" he greeted, smiling inanely, feeling happier than he had done for a while. Even one of Doctor Daniel Jackson's classically ill-timed interruptions was not going to spoil his evening.

"Jack, um…" Daniel said looking slightly uncomfortable at intruding. Jack guessed the poor guy had drawn the short straw, which seemed to be his lot in life. "Some of us are going for pizza. We were thinking you might want to come."

"Carter and T?"

"Yeah, they're coming."

"Well, I'm a little busy right now, Daniel."

"Um, I can see that, Jack. I'm sure, um… you could come too if you like," he said looking at Catherine.

"Do you want us to go with them Jack?" she asked.

Considering it briefly, Jack dismissed the idea almost immediately. There were way more important things than pizza to consider and he was enjoying himself alone with Catherine far too much to go sharing her company with the others.

"I think I'll take a rain check on that," he said. "I guess I'd better come say goodnight to Carter. It's her party. Excuse me for a few moments Catherine?"

She nodded, smiling, and Jack walked over to briefly re-join the others.

"Jack, it's Sam's engagement party, for Christ's sake," Daniel commented en route.

"So what? Daniel, don't look at me like that. I have my own life, you know."

"B-b-but…"

"No buts, or even ifs. There's more to life than pizza and engagement parties."

"She certainly is an attractive woman."

"You betchya!"

When he told Carter he wasn't going with them, she tried to suppress a look of disappointment, and hurt feelings, but the expression on his face stopped her protestations stone dead. She was hardly in a position to object if Jack had managed to find himself a woman. After all, this was her engagement party, although Pete clinging to her all night like an over eager schoolboy was not exactly endearing Sam to him right now.

She realised that she was jealous and knew that she had no right to be thinking like that, and shouldn't even be contemplating it on this night of all nights.

"I'll make it up to you, Carter, I promise," Jack said and she smiled somewhat wanly.

"Yes sir. Have a good time."

"Oh, I fully intend to. You too. See you on Monday."

"Yes sir."

Obligations fulfilled, he hastily returned to Catherine, a big smile plastered all over his face.

"I feel a little guilty pulling you away from your friends," she said as he sat down, returning to his previous position with his arm around her.

"Ack! Don't! I see them everyday, for crying out loud. I'd much rather be with you."

"I'm pleased about that."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Pulling back from their embrace a little, he captured her eyes in his own as if seeking something. If he was then he found it, because his face ventured closer to hers until their noses met. Then Jack tilted his head slightly to one side and touched his lips gently to hers.

Catherine raised her hand to his face, stroking his cheek and, duly encouraged, Jack grasped the back of her head and sought entrance to her mouth with his tongue. She parted her lips to let him probe inside and, whilst he did, his hand smoothed her neck enticingly. Their kiss deepened when she clashed her tongue against his, delving into his mouth and, when they finally released each other, she sighed longingly.

"That was real good Jack. I think we ought to be leaving," she said candidly, "Come back to see my etchings?" she giggled and grinned teasingly, "My place is only a few blocks from here."

"Love to," he answered, kissing her cheek with great affection, and more than hopeful anticipation of what was to come.

Catherine's apartment might have been called eclectic. One large room was crammed with various works of art and artist's materials, and was a mess, while the rest was a diverse mixture of styles ranging from ethnic chaos to minimalist chic. She was a woman with expensive tastes for objects that went way beyond the clothing she wore. Jack was intrigued and thrilled.

"This place is massive," he commented.

"Yeah, I'm lucky."

"The Community College must pay better than I thought."

"Not really, but I inherited some money. It helps."

"I'm sure it does. An interesting place you have here."

"Like it?"

He nodded appreciation, with a smile. "That must have cost you a fortune," he said, whistling through his teeth at a large painting that was the centrepiece of her living room.

"What makes you think so?"

"It is by someone famous, isn't it?" he grinned, "Although I can't quite… place it but… it's amazing." Catherine laughed.

"Yes it is by someone famous, Jack. I have a few original works in this place that aren't my own."

"Wow! That must have been a pile of money you inherited."

"Um… I guess. A lot of the art was inherited too."

"What, you're related to Getty?"

Giggling, she replied, "Something like that."

"And you think you're the one who caught the big fish?" She grinned and, for the first time that night, he thought she looked a little bit bashful and self-conscious.

"I don't really like to talk about that," she said.

"Okay. Won't say another word. Except, why the hell are you here in Colorado Springs, teaching art at the Community College, for crying out loud?"

"Because that's what I enjoy doing."

"In the Springs?"

"I like it here, and you meet the most superior kind of flyboy," she joked, and Jack laughed, pulling her towards him for a kiss.

"So, what about your own art?" he asked when they stopped canoodling.

"Follow me," she replied, taking his hand and leading him back into what was obviously her studio, which he had only seen briefly on her whirlwind guided tour.

Jack looked around for a while, studying her art thoughtfully. Catherine liked that he seemed genuinely interested, and impressed too.

"Nice!" he exclaimed eventually, with a devilish grin on his face.

"Nice? That's it?" she said, smirking.

"Well, I'm no expert, Catherine. Military tactics and history is more my line. But I like it."

"And the apartment?"

"Impressive."

"I don't bring that many men up here."

"Even more impressive," he responded with a shy smile, "I'm honoured."

"Yes, you are."

"I noticed you seem to have a huge music collection in your living room," he remarked.

"Want to take a look?"

"And be even more impressed? Sure."

Hand in hand, they returned to the living room and Jack looked through her collection, making suitable amazed noises as he explored.

"What a terrible hostess I am. Drink?" she asked, approaching him from behind and smoothing her hand along his back.

"I, um, I think I've had enough liquid refreshment for the moment, thanks."

"So are you game for a different kind of refreshment, Jack?"

He turned around, grasping her behind the shoulders, while she gently grabbed his ass and pulled him closer.

"What kind of refreshment did you have in mind?" he asked with an innocent look on his face.

"I think you know exactly what I have in mind, General O'Neill, so stop trying to look so innocent. I can see that smirk lurking in your eyes."

Jack was thinking that this really was turning out to be his lucky night. As he had hoped, this beautiful and sexy woman wanted to have sex with him. She was asking if he was game? She had to be kidding, right?

"I'll try almost anything once," he replied, leaning in to nibble her ear.

"More than once if at all possible," she countered, biting into his neck.

"You might be able to tempt me."

Catherine placed her hands at either side of his face and kissed him wholeheartedly, following that by nipping along his jaw line with her teeth, and then down his neck to his shoulders.

"Seems you know exactly what you want, Catherine. Going to drag me into the bedroom?"

"No, Jack, I want you to take the lead. I want you to seduce me." He arched his eyebrows in surprise at those words. "I have this feeling that you might be good at it. My turn later."

"Really? I hope I can live up to that expectation."

"I'd be surprised if you didn't."

"No pressure, then?" he replied, laughing lightly.

"Come on, Jack, I'm betting that you know you're good."

"Well… I've been told I'm pretty good."

"Then show me," she said, smiling seductively.

So he did. Their first round of lovemaking was quite a serious affair. Staring into her eyes, Jack started by softly caressing her face and neck with the tips of his fingers, following that with his lips and tongue. Meanwhile, he removed her jacket, briefly turning to place it tidily on a chair, and stood regarding her.

He'd been right that she didn't have much on under the jacket, merely a skimpy camisole top, and a bra, both of which he wordlessly made short work of.

"Bedroom," he whispered, taking her hand and leading her there. Before urging her onto the bed, she slipped off her shoes and he removed her skirt, just as carefully placing that on a chair close to the bed. Still fully clothed himself, he encouraged her to sit down on the bed and crouched by its side to divest her of her stockings and pants. She was now naked and he stood up to admire her.

"Beautiful, Catherine," he commented before crouching again, hopeful that his weak knees would not betray him, slowly moving his hands over her body.

"Jack, I want to see you naked too," she said, standing again and pulling him up, and then gradually undoing the buttons on his shirt and jeans. Just as he had done with her, Catherine's fingers probed his chest, and then his back, and she finally removed all clothing from his torso and sprayed it with small kisses and flicks of her tongue.

A silent signal passed between them and they parted so that Jack could take off his boots and the rest of his clothes, until he stood in front of her as naked as she was. Catherine looked him over, smiling.

"Nice!" she said appreciatively.

"Getting a little wizened with age, I guess," Jack responded and she laughed in that throaty manner that was so attractive.

"Fishing for compliments, Jack? You obviously keep yourself fit. You have a good firm body. I like it."

As if to demonstrate, she smoothed a hand over the muscles of his arms and, taking the hint, Jack started to seduce her, taking his time, wanting to please her. He was in total control, of himself and her, and his ability to do that stunned her. God, had she picked the right man to scratch her itch for good sex! She had seen that potential within him in the bar earlier and was pleased that she'd been right. He had caught her attention early on in the evening and, as she watched him, there was something about the way he moved that had made her believe it.

When she had discovered that she also liked him, and his company, that had clinched the deal. Catherine never just went for a man for mere sex; there had to be something more and, with Jack, there was. Actually a whole lot more. He was clearly a man with hidden depths and she wanted to explore them very much indeed.

Their lovemaking was slow but intense and, almost immediately afterwards, he rolled her into his arms, kissing her forehead, and they lay in each other's arms silently for a long time as they recovered

"Why me, Catherine?" he asked curiously after a while, "There were a lot of guys in that bar."

"God, I don't even think you realise quite how attractive and sexy you really are, or are you fishing for compliments again?"

"I'll take 'em if you're giving 'em," he replied with a mischievous grin.

"Don't bullshit me, Jack. You must have had plenty of women coming after you."

"I'm not saying that I haven't. I never really got why, though. I just go along with it."

"Then just go along with it now."

"Sheesh! I'm never gonna find out why I have such animal magnetism," he joked, and Catherine tittered appreciatively.

"Sex appeal is just one of those things you can't explain, Jack. You are one hell of a good-looking man."

"Thanks."

"Your wife must have been crazy to let you go."

"I was the crazy one back then. Still am."

"Were you happy with her?"

"Yeah. If it hadn't been for… I don't really want to go into all of that, Catherine."

"Just answer me one thing; what was her name?"

"Sara."

"And you loved her a lot?"

"That's two things."

"Okay, I'll shut up now."

"Yes, I loved her. She left me. Satisfied?"

"I'll have to be."

"I'm not too big on personal disclosures," he admitted.

"That's okay. Neither am I, really, but I get a little curious from time to time about any man in my life."

"You seem to be a very open and honest person to me," he replied, squeezing her gently. Before she spoke, Catherine responded by raising her fingers to his face and softly caressing his cheek, following by planting a brief kiss on his lips.

"There are some things I don't like to talk about," she said.

"Like your family, for instance?"

"Exactly."

"I won't ask if you don't."

"You've got yourself a deal, flyboy!"

They grinned idiotically at each other and then cuddled silently for a while, dozing in fits and starts. Later, Catherine raised her eyes to Jack's, finding him awake, and she caressed his chest, kissing it lightly, before saying anything.

"Jack, I think it's my turn to take control now," she whispered.

"Oh?" his mouth turned upwards into a big grin, "Well, I'm willing. Let's just hope I'm able."

"I'd bet that you will be. I'm going to give you a massage. Turn onto your front."

"Yes ma'am," he said, obeying, and she straddled his lower back and started to massage his neck and shoulders, and then down his back and spine.

"Mmmm… are you sure you don't do this professionally?" he asked, contentedly.

"What are you implying, flyboy?"

"I-I didn't mean… oh, crap! I don't think I meant it the way you took it. It just feels real good, that's all. Sometimes I'm not so great at the communicating thing, Catherine. It's a huge character defect."

Continuing her massage, she replied, "That must be a bit awkward for a General."

"Oh, giving orders, that I can do, it's the personal stuff I'm not so great at."

"You seem to have been doing okay to me."

"Good. Don't say I never warned ya. And don't stop, that's… mmmmm."

"Mmmmm seems to cover it fine, Jack," she said, leaning over to kiss along his back and shoulders and then shifting her legs down to sit astride the back of his thighs and running her fingers down his spine, before she started to massage further down his back. "Your work must be stressful," she commented, "this should help relieve it."

"What, you figure the mind-blowing sex we had earlier wasn't enough?"

Catherine tittered, "You can never get enough stress relief," she replied with her tongue firmly in her cheek.

"I am so not stressed. Believe me when I tell you that real stress is when you wake up screaming and then realise you haven't fallen asleep yet," he replied in a jocular manner, although Catherine was astute enough to comprehend that he used his wit as a shield.

She found that aspect of him fascinating. It made her want to dig deeper into the man behind the mask but, for now, it was important to keep things between them light-hearted. After all, they were all but strangers, and strangers don't reveal their inner most feelings to each other, however open they might be. Catherine was a very frank and open person, and even she had secrets she wouldn't wish to reveal to Jack O'Neill. On the other hand, he was the kind of man that kept much hidden, the very reverse of open. To Catherine, that was appealing and surprisingly scintillating.

"I'll take your word for it," she answered in a bright tone, and leaned over to kiss his chest, her hair falling onto his bare skin.

"That tickles," he commented delightedly.

"As long as it's not a bad tickle, then it's meant to."

"It's a great tickle," he said with something akin to a giggle. She smiled, enjoying his boyish reaction.

"So, Jack, let's have some fun."

He tried to turn his head to see her but she started to tickle him with the light touch of her fingers, lifting herself up so that he could move.

"So you're gonna get rough, huh?" he joked, "Two can play at that game you know!"

Jack turned onto his back and they played a tickling game for a while, ending up rolling around chasing each other all over the bed and laughing hysterically. He fell off the side of the bed, laughing his ass off, but hit his head, smack, on her nightstand.

"Ow! Crap!"

"Jack? You okay?"

"I've been worse, but it hurts," he whined.

Catherine helped him back onto the bed and started to smother his head with kisses.

"I'll kiss it all better for you," she said.

"That's nice."

Jack was enjoying their playfulness enormously; totally different to the serious lovemaking session earlier, but it was lovemaking, nonetheless. Catherine took control, making the sex fun, but was a hard task master and when they finally finished, and she lay down beside him, Jack was content, but exhausted.

"Jeez, woman, you'll kill me, but man will I enjoy it!" Jack remarked teasingly, still catching his breath. Kissing her dampened hair, he returned her embrace, settling happily in her arms.

Neither of them slept that much. Catherine kept Jack busy and he was delighted that she wanted him so much, and that he was able to keep pace with her. That ability had as much to do with her skill as it did with his. She seemed to be a free spirit and that was appealing. He didn't meet many women like that in his line of work. And she was adventurously playful. The bed wasn't the only part of her apartment that witnessed them in action together that night.

Long dark hair tickled his face as Jack woke up next morning, and he smiled, remembering the great time he'd had the night before. Catherine was beautiful, sexy, and good company, and the sex had been awesome; the best he'd had in quite some time. He had needed her and she had wanted him. What could be better than that? This morning he was as sore as hell, but it was way more than worth the discomfort.

Slowly opening an eye, he glanced to see if she was awake and she smiled.

"Hi," she said simply.

"Hi," Jack replied, shifting onto one elbow and looking at her. "Whoa! How come you get to look so ravishing in the morning and I get to look like shit?"

"You don't look like shit, flyboy. Actually, you look pretty damned good. I could eat you for breakfast."

Jack laughed, responding with "Please do," and waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Ruffling her hair playfully, he excused himself to go to the bathroom and realised he was uncertain as to where to go from here with Catherine. He wanted to see her again, if she was willing, but he wasn't sure that she would be.

If she weren't then he would chalk it up as one of the best one-night stands he'd ever had in his life. If she was, she could be one of the best things to have happened to him for a long time. Jack had no illusions that it would be a lasting relationship, but it could be a lot of fun. Life's too short, right? Live it while you can.

"Who's Sam?" Catherine asked when he returned from the bathroom and Jack froze, feeling foolish standing in the middle of her bedroom naked.

"What?" he croaked.

"You called out that name in the night while you were asleep."

"I did? Oh crap!" He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Catherine." Hurriedly, he reached for his boxers, sitting on the end of the bed to put them on, but Catherine moved quickly to intercept him, grasping his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, "Don't go, Jack."

"I thought… It's not exactly the done thing to cry out another woman's name while you are in bed with someone else, is it? Don't you find that just a little insulting? I didn't mean…"

"So it is a woman? Jack, I'm not pissed with you. Please stay. Who is she?" she asked again calmly, and Jack looked at her with surprise.

"You really want me to stay?"

"I like you, Jack, a lot. I enjoy your company and you are damned great in bed. So what if you have some issues? Don't we all? You gonna tell me who she is?"

Jack sighed deeply, flattered by her words and grateful that she wanted him to stay, but deeply humiliated by his blunder.

"Sh-she's the woman whose engagement party I was at last night."

"The attractive blonde? Oh!"

"Yeah, oh."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It would never work between us. Besides, it's against regulations."

"Did you let me pick you up to make her jealous?" she asked in her usual open manner.

There was no trace of negativity in her voice. It was simply a question. Jack really liked that. Catherine didn't seem to have any hidden agendas, and not much in the way of hang-ups either, although he was sure he would find something if he looked hard enough. Everyone has something, don't they?

"No. Jeez, you're a beautiful, intelligent and interesting woman, and I like you a lot too. Life's too short not to live it, isn't it?"

"We're certainly agreed there, flyboy. Come back to bed. I want more sex."

"You really think I'm good at it?"

"Fantastic. The best lay I ever had. Don't look at me like that; I'm perfectly serious. I don't bullshit about stuff like that. What's the point?" Jack grinned a response and kissed her.

"You're pretty hot yourself," he said. "Does this mean this is more than just a one night stand?"

"I'd like it to be more than that. Would you?"

"Yeahsureyabetchya. I'd like that a lot."

Jack was smirking smugly as he got back into the bed with Catherine. This was just going to be so great!

The End


	2. Go, Jack, Go!

Title: Go, Jack, Go!

Author: Su Freund

E-mail: See bio

Website: www ficwithfins com (insert . instead of spaces in the address)

Category: Friendship, angst, romance, missing scene

Content Level: Age 13+ (no, I did not write an adult only version this time!)

Content Warnings: Use of minor mild language and references to sexual situations

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine)

Season: 8

Spoilers: Affinity, Covenant

Summary: Walter is worried by O'Neill's uncharacteristically happy behaviour

Sequel/Series Info: Sequel to Jack's Lucky Night

Status: Complete, but could become an occasional series of linked fics

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2006 Su Freund

Author's Note:

1. My story, Jack's Night Out, may not have been popular with J&S shippers (go figure!), but had its fans, including me – I enjoyed writing it. I wrote this so that my character Catherine didn't go to waste, and in response to the positive feedback and suggestions I got, for which I thank you all.

2. It also meets the criteria of two recent fic challenges on the As The Stargate Turns Yahoo group: firstly to use the line "my give a damn's busted" and / or the word 'llama' (Challenge 30, issued 12 March); and secondly to use the line "The American way" and/or the word 'bookkeeper' (Challenge 31, 19 March).

3. Beware. This fic has not been beta read so I hope I haven't made too many errors.

**Go, Jack, Go!**

O'Neill was whistling. He'd had a kick ass grin on his face all morning and it had Walter worried. The Sergeant had seen Jack O'Neill in many different moods, but this wasn't really one of them. Sure, he would frequently crack a joke, although sometimes it was difficult to tell, and he might smile or chuckle, but looking downright happy, that was odd behaviour indeed. Walter wondered what was wrong and, more importantly, how that might affect him, or the SGC as a whole.

Everyone on the base suspected that there was more to Colonel Carter and General O'Neill's relationship than met the eye, and it was a frequent subject of chit-chat. Walter was astounded that O'Neill was in this kind of mood so soon after Colonel Carter's engagement party.

Earlier in the day he'd heard a rumour that the General had picked up a woman at that celebration. Actually, what he really heard was that she picked him up. Good on the General, Walter thought, and he figured if it meant O'Neill was in a pleasant mood then that should be a good thing, right? So why the hell did he find it so darned unsettling?

Walter decided that he really had to look into that rumour a bit more. Having left Colonel Carter's party early, he had missed witnessing this event for himself and was pissed about that. Admittedly he probably would have been even more pissed if he'd got home later than promised and his wife had carried out her threats. Dammit, talk about being caught between a rock and a hard place.

Walter liked to know everything that was going on. He considered that part of his job. So he had to find a reliable source and get some accurate intel. His wife's friends might consider him as merely a glorified bookkeeper, but they knew nothing about his work. Walter understood very well that he was way more than that and, in his own way, he was just as vital to the smooth running of the SGC as the likes of Colonel Carter. O'Neill would probably find it difficult to manage without him and might even realise that one of these days.

Colonel Carter had been in to see the General earlier and it was obvious that she was none too happy. Walter couldn't figure that. She'd just got engaged, for heaven's sakes. Some people seemed to like being unhappy and, to be honest, Walter had wondered whether O'Neill might be one of those, but apparently not. Colonel Carter on the other hand, she could be quite an enigma sometimes. Heck, couldn't they all? The original SG-1. They must have something special or they would have ended up stone dead years ago. If that had happened at least Walter wouldn't have to worry quite so much about O'Neill's currently buoyant mood. Can't have everything.

Jack, of course, was oblivious to Walter's concerns and kept catching himself smiling, which only made him smile all the more. It had been quite some weekend. He and Catherine had hardly come up for air. Wow! She really was a piece of work, and he meant that in the nicest possible way.

Even Carter's earlier visit to his office had failed to dampen his mood. She had come to see him about about business, of course, but it had turned a little more personal when she'd enquired about whether he'd enjoyed his weekend, looking a little put out by his bumptious response. To be fair, she hid her feelings double quick, but Jack hadn't failed to notice before she slammed down the shutters. Well, screw her!

Jack was determined to enjoy his relationship with Catherine for a long as it lasted. She was beautiful, intelligent, excellent company and great in bed. It also turned out that she was somewhat older than he had originally thought, which had been a slight relief because he had wondered if he'd turned into a dirty old man and was cradle snatching. She was, however, still considerably younger than him and that was an ego boost and a half, which he sorely needed right then. Perfect timing!

The great in bed part had been something very powerful and extremely hot. She seemed to know what intimate buttons to press and Jack needn't have feared being unable to keep up the pace with someone of her age. Go, Jack, go! Not that he'd ever experienced that problem much, but he was growing older and kept expecting it to happen.

He would have been mortified if such a thing had happened with Catherine but, if his body might have initially seemed unwilling, she had turned that around pretty damned quickly. Actually, this morning he was quite sore, but that was way more than worth it and certainly did nothing to wipe the smile off his face. Quite the reverse.

Although he'd had to face Carter, so far Jack had managed to avoid Daniel Jackson. Knowing Daniel, he'd ask a few questions, all of which Jack would find way too intrusive. When it came down to it, Jack thought almost any questions about his personal life were too nosy and meddlesome but Daniel had a bad habit of asking them anyway, as if he hadn't noticed Jack's penchant for privacy. And Jack had even been known to confide the odd titbit to his friends, but that was on his terms and no one else's.

When Jack talked about anything personal it was because he wanted to and for no other reason. It was that simple. So, to avoid that for now, Jack had ensured that Daniel was kept occupied. After all, it was his base so he could do what he liked, right? Within reason.

Teal'c, on the other hand, was almost the opposite of Daniel, rarely talking, let alone asking questions about a man's private life. Teal'c's calm and solid presence could be positively soothing to one's soul. Right now, however, the last thing Jack needed was any soul soothing. Catherine had already managed to do a great job of that over the weekend and Jack didn't want anything or anyone to spoil the afterglow.

Unfortunately for Jack, being in charge of the SGC meant something was always happening to wreck his day and, because of today's something, it was sooner than he'd hoped when Daniel crossed his path. The archaeologist rushed into the briefing room all over excited, Carter hot on his tail, and Jack knew immediately that it was something with potential badness attached. Oy! To head them of at the pass, he walked out of his office and into the briefing room.

"Daniel, calm down and just tell me in words of two syllables or less, okay?" Jack pleaded, already starting to get a headache. Carter placed her hand on Daniel's arm to stop his flow and reported in a composed manner.

"Alec Colson of Colson Industries has been live on TV challenging the Antarctica meteor shower story. Actually, he accused the government of covering up the fact that there are aliens out there who have been interfering with us for a long time."

"He what?" Jack exclaimed, horrified.

"He says he has proof."

"Crap! What proof?"

"Didn't say but he threatened that if the cover-up wasn't, um, uncovered by the government within 24 hours, he would do it for them."

"Aw, for crying out loud…! And I was having such a great morning. Walter!" he shouted and the Sergeant came rushing, wondering what had spoiled O'Neill's mood. Perhaps he should be grateful. All the whistling and cheeriness had creeped him out. At least he knew where he stood when things were at normal O'Neill status.

"Sir!" he snapped smartly.

"Get Jennings and Cook to check out the Alec Colson file and ensure it's up to date, ASAP. I want copies here within 45 minutes; everything we know about Colson. Daniel, Carter, inform Teal'c. I want all three of you back here in an hour for a briefing, and have something to eat because we're gonna get real busy real soon. Dismissed!"

Carter and Daniel looked a little startled by Jack's swift and blunt response, watching open-mouthed as he got up and returned to his office, shutting the door behind him. Carter knew Colson. They'd worked together briefly so she was mulling over the Colson situation and didn't notice that Daniel wasn't following her.

"Coming to find Teal'c?" she asked, turning when she realised he wasn't behind her.

"I'll join you in a minute. I want a quick word with Jack. Why don't I meet you guys in the commissary? Jack is probably right to suggest we eat. It's gonna be one of those days."

"Okay," she nodded affably and left him to it.

Daniel knocked on Jack's door and was waved in.

'Here it comes,' Jack sighed to himself. "What is it Daniel?" he said aloud.

Daniel started by talking about the Colson situation and Jack held his hand up in a gesture to stop him.

"We've got a briefing in under an hour. Can't this wait? I've got paperclips to order," Jack said in a sarcastic tone, "or perhaps there's something else you want to talk about?" Jack was thinking that he might as well get this thing out of the way and get on with his life.

"Um, actually I was wondering if you had a good weekend?"

"Sit, Daniel, and stop looking like a High School kid who's been called into the Principal's office." Daniel sat with his hands clasped together and, somewhat awkwardly, playing with his thumbs by repeatedly pressing one tip against the other. "I had a great weekend, thanks. You?"

"I-I was just wondering how it went with you and th-that woman you met on Friday."

"Catherine? Isn't she something?"

"I take it that means it went well."

"Great, Daniel, just great." Jack beamed happily to emphasise the point.

"It was Sam's engagement party, Jack."

"Didn't we already have this conversation?" he retorted impatiently, fixing Daniel with a cold hard stare.

"I just thought it was a bit, um, impolite not to come along with us for the rest of the night. Sam was upset."

"Impolite? Upset?" Jack queried, looking at Daniel in a manner that would have made most men quake in their boots. Not so Daniel, although he was a little nervous about broaching the subject, but he was also slightly angry, and more than curious, which outweighed everything else. "She said she was upset? Well gee, Daniel, my give a damn's busted," he added with acute sarcasm, which the younger man countered by throwing back a dark look of his own.

"No she didn't exactly say that, but I know Sam."

"You are so treading on dangerous ground here, my friend," Jack said with an edge to his tone that made Daniel more wary and consider backing off. Then his friend continued in a more friendly manner, determined not to ruin his previously excellent mood, "So you expect me to reject the advances of a beautiful woman for Carter's benefit? Contrary to popular opinion I have a life, and I take my opportunities where I get them. Life's already too short. I have to live it."

"I just…" Daniel was feeling way less certain of his ground now. Jack was right to want to live his life, and he couldn't blame the man if he was a little bit pissed about Carter's engagement and wanted to seek out some companionship.

"It was just a few drinks and a pizza. We can do that anytime, but I don't meet a woman like Catherine every day of the week."

"She's certainly very attractive," Daniel responded, trying to sound more amiable and mend the bridge between them before it got broken.

"And intelligent and sexy and damned great in the sack."

"That's a little bit too much information Jack."

"Oh? And I thought you'd just made my private life your business."

"No need to be so cutting," Daniel responded defensively.

"Ya think?"

"I guess I'd better mind my own business," Daniel pouted, almost making Jack laugh but instead he sealed the deal.

"You got that right."

Daniel rose to leave, feeling a bit ashamed of himself, but then changed his mind half way to the door.

"I just care about Sam, that's all," he said, turning to face Jack again.

"Dammit all, Daniel, so do I. But what about me?"

Daniel was slightly uncertain as to what Jack meant by that question but, after briefly weighing it up, responded with a shy smile, "I care about you too."

"Then you should be happy for me."

"Jack, it's not that I'm unhappy for you… I hope Catherine makes you happy, really I do."

"So what is it, exactly?"

"I-I, oh I don't know. I'm sorry I asked."

"Bullshit. For a diplomat you so aren't very diplomatic."

"Look who's talking."

They grinned at each other and Daniel noticed that Jack's eyes were dancing with merriment. It was a while since he'd seen Jack look so happy and he considered walking away from it, but couldn't resist yet another question.

"You don't like Pete Shannahan much, do you Jack?"

Jack was caught off guard. "No. Go figure!" he snapped back, and Daniel briefly saw something in his eyes that Jack rarely revealed. "Now stop it with the twenty questions. You're so spoiling my day."

Daniel hadn't even considered that and suddenly deeply regretted having said anything, wondering why he could be so dumb for a man who was meant to be intelligent.

"I'm sorry," he said with a shamed face. "So, you're seeing Catherine again?"

"You betchya."

"That's great. I am happy for you, Jack – really." Jack nodded but did not respond directly.

"Daniel, I meant what I said about eating, so get going will ya?"

"That's a hint to shut up and leave you alone?"

"It's a hint that this conversation is closed, and that you should eat something for crying out loud!"

"You coming?"

"I've got a lot to do and I've got a feeling that Mr Alec Colson isn't going to help clear my desk of paperwork."

"A lot to do? Like order paperclips?" They exchanged another grin. "You need to eat too. Join us. It's been a while." Jack considered his words seriously and then nodded briefly.

"Sure, good idea."

"I get them sometimes."

"Meet you down there in five."

"Okay."

Daniel left feeling vaguely unsettled. It occurred to him that he knew next to nothing about Jack's private life and that his friend surely couldn't have been womanless since his split with Sara, even if it might have seemed that way at times. There had been a couple of off world exceptions, but long ago. When he thought about it, Daniel had to admit that Jack's dalliances had been way fewer than his own close encounters with off world beauties. His friend was far from being Captain James T Kirk.

In the main, Jack's life on Planet Earth was a mystery to all of them, and Daniel had to confess that he found that disturbing. Okay, so he considered it poor taste that Jack had gone off with a woman at Sam's engagement party, but it seemed unfair that he grudged his friend that little bit of happiness and he had to question his motives. He was still considering all of this when he joined Sam and Teal'c in the commissary and had to pull his head out of the clouds to talk to them.

Jack, meanwhile, was uncertain that joining his friends was a good idea. After the brief encounter with Carter that morning he didn't want anything else to disturb his good mood. Daniel had just done a good job of trying, albeit not deliberately. Daniel was Daniel and it was one of his bad habits. You simply got used to it and lived with it – or not.

In the end Jack decided that, whatever the outcome, he should join the team for a bite to eat and coffee. He couldn't allow a negative atmosphere to develop and take hold between them, so nipping it in the bud was the best thing for all of them. He was the boss and had to set a good example.

When he met up with them, Jack was pleasantly surprised to find everything seemed relatively normal: the banter, the exchanged looks, the whole works. That was a considerable relief and meant that, with the small exception of any fallout from one Alec Colson, Jack could still wander around with a smirk plastered on his face, and a skip in his step for the rest of the day.

He was even more pleasantly surprised when he received a call from Catherine.

"Jack, I know you're probably busy and I'm sorry to bug you at work but… um… are you free tonight?"

"Tonight?" The surprise deepened as, after a whole weekend joined at the hip, they had both eschewed any notion of seeing each other that night.

"I know we said…"

"Screw what we said!"

"So you're free?" She sounded pleased and Jack's heart quickened. It felt really good to be wanted by this woman.

"I, um, probably. Catherine, something's going on at work so I might not be if the crap hits the fan."

"It's okay. Call me. Or just come round, if you can make it."

"Catherine…?" He tailed off, reluctant to ask her why, but she sensed the question in his voice.

"I don't know why, Jack," she replied perceptively, and his eyebrows shot up at her reading him so well, "I'm trying not to over think it and just enjoy it. Okay?"

He damned near laughed at those words. Over think it? Sheesh! What did that remind him of? Irony could be a bitch! But, if Catherine just wanted to live it, that suited him fine. In fact he liked it quite a lot.

"Sure. Jack O'Neill's never been known for over thinking anything," he quipped in response, knowing that she was probably entirely the wrong person to appreciate the exact nuances of that little joke. Despite that, he could almost feel her responding smile down the phone line.

"Great. I'll see you later, flyboy."

"I'll call if I can't make it," he promised, thinking that he would make it, if only for a little while. The sound of her voice drifting down the phone made him yearn to see her and he marvelled at how quickly this woman had come to touch his ageing and cynical heart.

A brief silence fell between them and all they could hear was the sound of each other's breath and then Jack decided to end the call. "Gotta go. See you later."

"Bye."

He put the phone down and sat back in his chair, spinning round in it like an overgrown school boy, his big grin increasing in magnitude still further.

"Yes!" he cried out, punching the air, and then spotted Walter about to enter his office via the briefing room, tried to look serious and waved him into the room.

"Come in, Walter, pull up a chair. What can I do for ya?" O'Neill asked with a huge smirk.

Walter gulped. 'Aw, crap! What now?' he thought, resisting the temptation to roll his eyes.

Having reached the stage where there was little he could do but wait for reports from others, Jack slunk out of the SGC, with instructions that they call his cell phone if he was needed. On the way there, he called Catherine to let her know that he was coming. Although she had said he didn't need to, it was getting late and he didn't want to intrude, figuring that maybe she'd made other plans instead of waiting for him. Apparently not and that gave him a good deal of pleasure.

"One of these days you must turn up in full dress blues, Jack," she teased as she opened the door.

"You'd like that?" he queried, barely making it through the door before she grabbed him and kissed him passionately. "Whoa! Missed me?" he grinned.

"Yes and yes, in that order," she admitted.

"Um… remind me of the questions?" he responded with a crooked smile and a twinkle in his eyes.

"Dress blues, missed you," she replied with her throaty laugh.

"Ah! Can't say dress blues are my favourite casual wear, but if it will turn you on…" he waggled his eyebrows mischievously.

"Definitely, flyboy."

"Then I'll wear 'em specially."

He figured that, if he did, he probably wouldn't be wearing them for long and his thoughts turned to a fantasy of her ripping them off. Although he was still sore from their weekend antics, Jack found himself getting horny. Not wishing to make this relationship all about sex, he suppressed the urge, deciding to wait and see whether that was what Catherine wanted.

"Stop hovering at the door and get your butt inside, Jack!" she ordered, taking his hand and leading him into her living room. The TV was on a news programme and she went to switch it off.

"Hold it! Mind if we watch for a while?" he asked, noting that the news item was a re-run of what he'd watched earlier with SG-1 but wondering if there was anything new. He so did not trust Julia Donovan. She knew way too much, especially for a reporter.

"Sure," she said, urging him onto the couch and sitting down next to him. "I know this guy, Alec Colson. I always thought he was a relatively sane man until today, although he's had his moments. He has to have gone crazy, hasn't he?"

"Aliens? What do you think?" Jack replied disingenuously. What else could he do? The truth was not an option.

"I guess he always was slightly Howard Hughes," she said with a smile, "Eccentricity is the American way, especially for our multi-millionaires."

Jack laughed at that comment, pleased with her reaction. If she was typical of the American public, they didn't have anything to worry about. Of course in Jack's opinion Catherine wasn't typical. She was actually very different to most people he'd ever met.

So he continued to worry about public reaction to Colson. Exposure would be dangerous and they didn't know all the evidence he had. They would contain it somehow, by fair means or foul, that much he knew. He was increasingly of the opinion that it might be by foul. Jack didn't like it that much, but if it was necessary, so be it. He would do what needed doing.

"So you know him? One of your wealthy friends?" he asked, curiously.

"Family friend."

"You rich guys stick together, huh?"

"Stop fishing in my pond, Jack," she said, pointedly.

"Alright, already, I'm just sayin'…" he replied, holding his arms up in mock surrender and grinning. "I didn't ask about your family; we made a deal."

"And Jack O'Neill's a man of his word?"

"You betchya!"

In fact Jack had been considering running a background check on Catherine to see what his people could turn up, but it felt like a grubby thing to do. He recalled how pissed he'd been that Shannahan had done exactly that with Carter. On the other hand, he was in charge of a top secret facility, one of the most secret in the world, so caution was a requirement of his job. Jack was suspicious by nature and, although he didn't suspect Catherine of anything, he knew that if he didn't check her out and something happened later he would have to live with the consequences.

There was no way in hell Jack would risk the program or any of his people just for the sake of an itch in his pants, albeit that Catherine already meant a bit more to him than that, which might be all the more reason to check her out. Jack had to cover his ass but hated himself for even thinking it and suppressed the feelings it provoked as he had no intention of spoiling things between them unless he had to.

"We went on a trek around parts of Peru and Ecuador once, a long time ago," she said, surprising Jack that she offered up something personal after what she'd just said. "Ever been?"

"Um, no, that must have been pretty interesting " he replied, relieved that these were two countries he had never visited. Most of his travels abroad had been ops related, which meant he could never talk about them to anyone, so Jack wasn't up to being cross-examined about any of his little trips. He was pleased that he didn't have to lie and deny. That was better than making a slip but it was best not having to lie at all.

"It was amazing. Very impressive."

"I'll bet. Um, were you and Colson…?" He left the question unasked but she answered him anyway.

"No! It wasn't anything like that. With Alec?" she laughed, "A group of us went. It's truly incredible, Jack. The scenery, the people… and trekking with llamas is quite an experience."

"Llamas? Sheesh! Don't they smell?"

"Yes," she agreed with a chuckle, "but they're good at what they do best. You should try riding perched on top of a camel! At least you don't ride a llama. Camels are… well…" She crinkled up her nose at the memory.

"You've ridden one of those? Ouch!" he chuckled at the notion, amused by the expression on her face. "Sounds like you've led quite an interesting life."

"I have. Maybe one of these days I'll tell you about it."

"Oh? I thought you already were telling me."

"It was only because of Alec. Forget it. Another day."

Jack sincerely hoped that other day would come because he was genuinely interested.

"Okay, screw the news and that nut job, Colson" he said, reaching for the remote, switching it off and then turning his full attention to Catherine. "Gotta warn ya that I'm on call, just in case."

"In case of what?" she asked with a grin.

"Oh, I don't know, the folks in DC are probably worried that Colson's aliens land on top of Cheyenne Mountain," Jack replied, quite pleased with that response because it kept him as close to the truth as he was able to get, and Catherine giggled at what she assumed was a joke. He liked making her laugh.

"It's okay, Jack. I'm not after your darkest secrets, especially the military ones."

He didn't respond with words, but with a kiss, pulling her as close as he could. Jack wasn't sure that he was able to resist the temptation of seducing her. So much for this not being about sex. Considering further, he realised that wanting sex didn't mean that the relationship was only about that.

There was nothing unusual in wanting to have lots of sex with your beautiful girlfriend, was there? That was only natural. It seemed like she wanted it too, which made things all the sweeter, so he went in for the kill. Go, Jack. go! This so had to be totally the best way of forgetting all about Alex Colson.


	3. Jack's Delicious Surprise

Title: Jack's Delicious Surprise

Author: Su Freund

E-mail: su freundficwithfins com (insert . instead of spaces in the address)

Website: www ficwithfins com (insert . instead of spaces in the address)

Category: Angst, romance

Content Level: Age 13+ An Adult Only version of this story can be found on my website at the above address

Content Warnings: Use of mild language and sexual situations. To use and slightly alter a dinkydow fic warning, this story contains gratuitous mention of dripping medals, and dress uniforms.

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine)

Season: 8

Spoilers: Nothing specific but general for S8

Summary: When Catherine asks Jack to pose for a portrait painting, he has no idea what he is letting himself in for

Sequel/Series Info: Sequel to "Jack's Lucky Night" and "Go, Jack Go"

Status: Series but this story is complete

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2006 Su Freund

Author's Note:

1. This story fulfils the terms of fic challenge 42 on the As The Stargate Turns Yahoo Group (issued on 5 June) to use the phrase 'Delicious surprise' and/or the word 'grind'. This fiction uses both. Thanks to SA for her fic title inspiration from the fic challenge.

2. Also many thanks to Lynette Minucos (Flatkatsi) for reading it over and pointing out a couple of foolish errors. Nevertheless, any errors remaining are entirely my own! This story is dedicated to Lynette for inspiring me with her fantasies of dripping medals and Class A uniforms, and for all her continuing invaluable help and advice on a Jackfic I am attempting to write.

**Jack's Delicious Surprise**

"When you said you wanted to paint my portrait you didn't say anything about me being butt naked!" Jack whined complainingly as Catherine explained exactly what she wanted him to do. She smirked at him winningly.

"So if I stand here butt naked while you are, would that make you feel any better about it?" she asked.

"Might," Jack replied with a quirky pout and was dumbfounded when she immediately stripped off her clothing and stood there before him in all her tantalising glory. "That is if I can keep my hands off you," he added in a hoarse whisper.

"Well, let's just say you will be amply rewarded for your efforts Jack," she grinned and winked.

Jack had been flattered when she'd asked if he would sit for a portrait painting and thought it would be really interesting to watch her at work. Flattered because she had complimented him on his "wonderful prominently chiselled cheekbones, mesmerising dark eyes and the lips that were full of so much promise", and that was nothing compared to what she said about his arms, chest, hands, and the rest of his body. Interested because, well, he was interested in almost anything to do with Catherine and he'd never had the opportunity to watch her at work.

He so hadn't expected her to want to paint him in the nude, despite her rather gratifying description of how she viewed his naked body. The woman sure knew how to feed a guy's ego and Jack wasn't complaining, far from it. He very much liked that she found him attractive, sexy, alluring and sensual; he felt the same way about her but she was still young enough to be fit, firm - and beautiful - whereas, these days, he had to work much harder to keep himself that way.

So, when she asked him to pose, he made a few comments about the grey hair, which she insisted was one of his many attractions, asserting that he would be a superb subject to paint because he had so much character. Nice one Catherine! At that rate he'd be surprised if he could manage to fit his swollen head through the door on the way out.

"I'm so gonna hold you to that implied promise," he commented in response to her veiled assurance of a sexual reward.

"I don't think I'll need reminding to keep that promise. And, by the way, you aren't naked."

"As good as. Jeez, Catherine, all the important parts are exposed aren't they?"

He was right about that; his entire bottom half was bare, but his top half wasn't, or not totally. When Catherine had asked him to arrive dressed in his Class As, he'd hoped she would rip them off as soon as he walked in the door, which had been another implied promise made at another time. Although she'd greeted him with a wild and passionate kiss, the anticipated sex hadn't been forthcoming and when she explained how she wanted him to pose, he had been surprised but amused by the notion.

After discussing the hot water he would probably find he was up to his neck in if this portrait was ever displayed openly, they both agreed that a General in the USAF probably shouldn't be caught with his trousers down in public and the portrait was strictly for Catherine's personal use. And Jack's trousers down was almost exactly what the portrait would depict. On the top, he wore the jacket of his dress blues with his shirt unbuttoned, exposing his chest, and his tie slung loosely around his neck. On the bottom he wore absolutely nothing, although the pose she wanted didn't actually include displaying his private parts on canvas.

So this was how he came to be sitting in her studio for hours, stripped almost naked and cautioned to stay as motionless as possible for long periods. Jack O'Neill stay motionless? The woman didn't know what she was asking. Nevertheless, he did it and watched in rapt fascination as she worked, concentrating on translating what she saw as his likeness onto canvas.

Aw shucks, he had to face it, the woman could twist him around her little finger!

Initially, Catherine had pondered what medium she should use to capture Jack and had decided on oils. Although Jack knew very little about the various artistic methods, he understood from what she told him that this might be time consuming.

He was so looking forward to seeing the final outcome of her work because he would see him through her eyes and that might be very illuminating. Catherine had warned him that she wouldn't let him peek until it was completed, which would probably take a few sittings, and he was happy to oblige. This meant they would spend a lot of time together and that suited Jack fine as he very much liked her company. Catherine was so unlike anyone he'd ever had any relationship with before and he happily basked in the thrill that gave him.

"How the hell do you stand there for so long doing that?" he asked.

"It helps to have a hunk like you as a subject." She grinned and winked.

"Ack, flatterer! If you say so, I'm not arguing," he responded with a huge beam on his face.

"I never could resist the allure of a uniform dripping with medals," she said and Jack couldn't determine if she was teasing or not, but was amused. "It helps when it's topped with that rugged and handsome face, and I have intimate knowledge of what lies beneath." She wiggled her eyebrows. Definitely teasing. "As for that smile, it's so hot I could get sunburn from here. I'd so like to capture that smile, Jack."

Chuckling with delight, Jack's huge beam expanded and Catherine had a sudden urge to get up close and personal with the man. She had managed to suppress that recurrent urge so she could work, but it was kind of hard to stare at a gorgeous chunk of man like Jack O'Neill all day and not get hot under her non existent collar, particularly in that sexy pose, semi-attired in that sexy uniform, which was adorned with a whole Air Force worth of sexy medals. It was time to come out from behind her easel.

"Well I can't sit with a big grin on my face all day," Jack retorted.

"You don't need to. Okay, I've got the basics down; I need to get into the detail. Want to call it a day? I have a promise to keep," she said with a glint in her eye. Jack was up so quick that the words had barely left her lips. He stretched to limber up his body a little.

"Gee I hope I'm up to helping you keep that promise after all the sitting around."

"You're a General in the United States Air Force; you should be used to sitting on your glorified butt all day," she responded playfully.

"Ouch! That was sharp," he retorted with a chuckle, followed by an amused smirk.

"Besides, I don't plan on letting you do much of the work."

"Really? I like the sound of that," he said, approaching and grasping her hips.

The quirky smile on his face was just so appealing, and Catherine was keen to slake her sudden thirst for the sensual and sexy General Jack O'Neill. Moving away to look him up and down she noticed his fears of not being up to it were unfounded and her desire increased.

"Then come with me, flyboy," she said and, once her back was turned, Jack grabbed her and pulled her close, snaking one arm around her waist while the other moved her long hair away from her neck so he could nuzzle it.

"Not so fast lady," he said, biting her shoulder.

"I'm feeling horny. All that rampant testosterone is driving me wild." She reached behind her, grasping his butt and Jack gasped.

"You think I'm not horny? Have been since I walked through the door. But I'm a patient man."

"You? Patient? Pah! I can feel you're horny, hunk. Let's go flyboy!"

"Shouldn't we get washed up? You've got paint…" He picked some of it from her hair and then gently let her go.

"Does it matter?" she said with a smile, taking his hand and pulling him towards the bedroom he was beginning to know intimately. "Later, Jack. We'll have a bath together." He liked that idea, "For what I've got in mind we're perfect."

"Um, okay… whatever," he replied, waving his free arm in the air carelessly.

As they crossed the threshold she loosed his hand. "You lie down and don't you dare take off that jacket! I'll be with you in a few moments," she said, kissing him briefly on the lips before turning and walking over to her dresser.

As she rummaged around in a drawer, wiggling her naked butt at Jack provocatively, which made him smirk in a self-satisfied kind of way, he wondered what she had in mind. She knelt beside him on the bed with a big grin on her face and waving a couple of long scarves at him.

"Thought it might be a bit of fun, Jack," she leered.

"And you're planning to do what exactly?" he enquired, guessing that she wanted to tie him to the bed with them and feeling slightly horrified by the notion. When she saw his obvious revulsion her grin turned to a frown.

"I-I… oh! I'm so sorry," she hastened to say, "I figured it was just a game. Jack?"

He said nothing and she searched his face for a clue. Jack's heart was pumping crazily. He had been captured, imprisoned or restrained so many times in his working life that he wasn't sure he could consider being tied down and helpless as fun. All enthusiasm for the anticipated lovemaking had disappeared in an instant, and it showed.

"Jack, forget it. It doesn't matter. We can have some different fun." She was clearly mortified, wondering what he was thinking.

"It might be fun," he ventured, his voice a croak and thinking that this was something he should fight to overcome because that was true. It might be fun with Catherine and not at all the same as any of his previous experiences with restraints. He reached for her wrist, grasping it gently. "Catherine, I've had some bad experiences in my life is all."

"Oh my god, Jack, I'm so sorry. Surely you know I would never do anything to hurt you." she regarded him with a frown, "Bad experiences? PoW?" she asked tentatively, unsure how much he would reveal but wanting to know more if he would tell her.

Jack was thinking that he could never reveal the half of it but he had been a PoW, kinda, so a small white lie couldn't hurt. PoW was a slight stretch because the Iraqis had held him as a spy. They had never known the half of it either! He was lucky not to have ended up shot or even more nastily killed while in captivity. On the other hand, he could probably count some other occasions that he'd been imprisoned as being a PoW so at least he didn't have to lie.

"Yeah," he confirmed without embellishment.

"Where? Iraq?"

"Right." His monosyllabic response gave very little away and Catherine lay the scarves down and bent over to kiss him tenderly.

"Pretty bad, huh?" she probed gently.

"I never talk about it Catherine but, in a nutshell, yes."

She was pleased he revealed even that much. They were both so protective of their privacy that she wondered how they ever found anything to talk about, but there was something about this man that made her want to get to know him better, and let him know her a little better too.

"I was married once," she confessed, much to Jack's surprise. "He was a total bastard and beat the crap out of me. It isn't just the poor who get battered, you know."

Jack's concern for his own feelings evaporated in an instant to be replaced by concern and sympathy for her.

"God, Catherine, I'm so sorry. C'mere," he said, urging her into his now open arms. She snuggled down next to him and took some comfort from his embrace.

"It was a long time ago but sometimes it seems like yesterday. He was supposed to be the perfect match. Charming, good looking, going places and from a wealthy family: old money. My parents loved him. Thought he was the most wonderful man in the universe. I never told them about what happened. They thought I was a mad woman when I eventually walked out, or maybe I should say crawled out. It caused a lot of trouble. I don't think they have ever forgiven me for it. And I've never forgiven them for not noticing or for taking his side." Jack stroked her soothingly, angry on her behalf.

"That's why you're estranged?" he asked, hopeful of a reply while she was open to revelations.

"Part of it."

He kissed her forehead with huge affection, wanting to kiss it all better but knowing he never could. Catherine would probably never fully recover from such an experience and it explained some things about her, but seemed to contradict others. Instead of getting to know her, sometimes he thought she became more of an enigma. Jack didn't realise that Catherine thought exactly the same thing about him.

She didn't behave like a woman who'd been a battered wife. He imagined someone mousy and cowed, lacking self-esteem and confidence. Catherine was none of those things. Maybe one day he'd ask her about that, but today probably wasn't the day. Not expecting her to reveal more, he decided that her disclosure deserved one from him to equal it.

"I was a prisoner in Iraq for 4 months. It was a hellhole and I was tortured. It was a crap 4 months." That was the understatement of the century but much to his surprise Jack found he could relate this in an unemotional way when he hadn't thought that possible, even now. "The Geneva Convention was pretty much thrown out of the window. I tried to believe I would make it out alive and get back to my wife; it was thinking about getting back to Sara that kept me alive, and partly sane too. I'd picture her face, her smile… Sometimes I thought I would lose my mind, lose control, die. Sometimes I almost wished I would die because that would be better than more pain and humiliation." He paused, "I guess that just about covers it." A small smile appeared on his lips and they caught each other's eyes and held that gaze.

"I can't imagine what that must have been like."

"After what you told me, I think you can imagine some of it, though not all of it. Believe me, you wouldn't even want to."

"Probably not. So we're both damaged goods, huh? There's a kind of symmetry in that. I like it." She smiled and Jack grinned back.

"I guess it is sort of symmetrical."

She kissed him so softly and sweetly that he melted into her, his heart fluttering with pleasure, and then they cuddled in silence for a long time, both feeling ludicrously contented given recent disclosures.

"What exactly did you have in mind, with the scarves I mean?" he asked eventually.

"I just want to seduce you without you being able to do a damned thing to stop whatever I do to you. I want to take control. No S&M, or anything like that, just a bit of fun. Like I said, I didn't want to hurt you."

"Do it," he said.

"Really? Jack, if you have any doubts…"

"No. Do it. I trust you."

"Somehow I think that was one heck of a compliment."

Jack merely gave her one of his crooked smiles and she gently took each wrist, and tied a scarf around it and then to the bed head, careful not to make the bonds too tight or restrictive and leave him some freedom to move.

"So, you're leaving my legs free?" he asked with a smirk.

"You think I shouldn't?"

"I can do a lot with these legs."

"So I noticed," she tittered. "I think I might leave them free to do whatever stuff they do."

"So not total control then?"

"I'm not a freak!" she exclaimed with a laugh.

"This jacket is so gonna be ruined."

"Promise I'll uncrumple it for you. It'll look like new."

"Okay, lady, then do your stuff," he urged.

"Um…" she ventured tentatively, her voice filled with uncertainty, "What do you think about being blindfolded, Jack?"

"Blindfolded?" he gulped, "I'm not sure."

"I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable. God, this is supposed to be fun, not a chore. But I thought, well, it might add a little something if you can't see what I'm doing to you. More… tantalising." She bit her bottom lip with concern.

"It might at that," he considered, "Kiss me Catherine."

She smiled sweetly and softly pressed her lips to his, following that by licking around them and urging him to open his mouth. Her tongue entered cautiously and she gently grasped his face, running it around his teeth and gums and over the taste buds of his tongue while her thumb caressed his cheek. He closed his eyes and moaned quietly as she explored every crevice and then hit back, forcefully fighting her tongue for space and thrusting his into her mouth. It was a while before she drew back for air and he smiled as her eyes met his.

"Okay, blindfold me," he said.

"If you want me to stop at any point, just say the word, Jack."

"I don't want to spoil this. You're right, it should be fun, so just go for it," he encouraged and she grinned, sitting astride his hips, pulling his tie from where it hung loosely around his neck and placing it around his eyes. "My tie?" he queried with a slight grin that belied the undercurrent of uneasiness that made his stomach flip and his heart rate soar.

"You have no idea how much that uniform turns me on," she commented.

"I kinda hoped you were gonna rip it off when I walked in the door," he said with a pout.

"Another time flyboy."

"I think I'd like that."

"So would I." Jack heard a low throaty chuckle in her voice and smiled. He loved Catherine's laughter in any shape or form. It was sexy and intoxicating, soothing him right when he needed it and, boy, he needed it now. His roiling gut calmed and he remained doggedly determined to see through this sexual adventure and test his mettle.

His underlying anxiety, however, was enhanced when he felt her move away and the weight shift from the bed. She'd got up. He was struck by a slight feeling of panic that she might leave him alone, tied up and helpless.

"Whatchya doin'?" he asked, attempting to keep his voice even and calm. 'Damn it, O'Neill don't be such a jerk,' he thought, 'You're a grown man, for crying out loud, a General in the Air Force, highly decorated, supposedly fearless. Sheesh, what a wimp!'

"Won't be a moment. I'm just getting something," she replied in a reassuring tone.

"Like?" he queried, trying to quell his nervous tension.

"Don't worry Jack, I've just had an idea is all. You'll enjoy it, I promise. Trust me?"

"Sure," he gurgled, the edgy catch in his throat giving him away. His acute ears picked up the soft padding sound as she returned, and the springs of the bed tilted when she rejoined him.

"I would never hurt you," she reiterated. Anxious to ease his disquiet and ensure Jack enjoyed the fantasy, Catherine straddled his hips, softly pressing her lips to his and showering him with gentle pecks along his jaw line and down over neck. The swell of her breast brushed against his partly exposed flesh, her long, dark hair tickling his chest, and he shivered with expectation, desire, and a smattering of apprehension.

A gentle whisper of a touch brushed his face and neck, taking him by surprise. The contact was way too soft even for the lightest of caresses by her fingertips. Whatever it was felt good as she smoothed it over his skin, moving from his neck down his chest. Catherine pulled his jacket open more to maximise her access to his flesh and Jack grinned the sound of a sigh and quickening breath as she did so, a finger smoothing over his skin followed by a small kiss it.

"All those medals," she whispered, "so, so sexy." His grin broadened and then he felt the same light touch as before dancing delicately over his torso. Sooo not her fingers. He had to know what it was she was using to drive him crazy with desire.

"What is that?" he asked.

"You like it?" she asked, brushing over more of his chest and settling to stroke a nipple. He didn't respond in words, merely grunting quietly as she teased. Catherine smiled. Yes, he liked it all right, and she sighed in a self-satisfied kind of way before finally answering his question. "It's a feather."

"A feather? It's extremely, um, erotic," he commented, thinking that was probably an understatement.

"I hoped it might be," she replied and Jack thought he could almost hear the huge smirk on her face, conjuring the vision to his mind. He smiled, his disquiet fading at last. A feather? The notion was appealing. Many times he had noticed the vase full of feathers that formed part of her bedroom's eclectic décor, enjoying the ingenuity of such a simple display. The feather's touch felt real good.

Catherine continued to tease with it for the longest time and Jack was surprised by the sensations it provoked as it tickled his flesh in a sensual and pleasing way, raising goose bumps on the surface of his firm, tanned skin. Briefly, she paused to grasp the muscles of one of his arms, squeezing gently before bending to kiss his collarbone, and then continuing to stroke him with the feather.

Her one regret about telling him to leave the jacket on was that she could not kiss and caress those muscular arms she loved so much, but the jacket was a turn on in its own right and one can't have everything, right? God, he looked so sexy lying there at her mercy, and the uniform added a certain amount of piquancy to the occasion.

She sighed longingly, starting to move her hips, and the slow grind of her body against his served to amplify his need, making him gasp and groan, and quickening his heart.

Having caressed what Jack believed was probably every inch of his chest, she trailed the feather down to his stomach, sliding gracefully down his legs to span his lower thighs. The touch of the feather as it explored his stomach, dusting over his belly button and around his waist, made Jack gasp with pleasure. Deliberately, Catherine taunted him with it for a while before gliding it further down his body.

The feather made for a delightful and playful seduction and Jack realised the eroticism and sensuality was enhanced by his blindness, that inability to see what she was doing augmenting his other senses. Each touch made him quiver with increasing hunger and need. The exquisite torture was an unexpected surprise and Catherine drew out her seductive tease for a long time. The feather, her skilful mouth and fingers, were incredibly arousing, driving him inexorably closer to the edge of reason.

When the sexual act itself finally occurred, they were entranced, enchanted and exhausted by it and its outcome. After it was over, Catherine collapsed down onto his chest, her long hair fanning out over his hot, damp skin, her warm lips puckering to kiss the throbbing, sweaty flesh.

"Wow!" she exclaimed, happily, "that was something else."

"That was freakin' amazing," he agreed.

Catharine lay perfectly still for a while, breathing in his manly scent before pushing herself up and reaching to remove the tie from his eyes, kissing him softly on the lips, and smiling.

"I missed those gorgeous eyes, Jack," she whispered, "they're so…" she paused, search for the right words, "soulful, deep, dark and talkative."

"They are? Talkative? Not sure I like the sound of that. What do they say?" he probed.

"Lots of things."

"Uh huh? Like?"

"Like lots of things."

He chuckled, the urge to hold her close irresistible and his inability to do so frustrating.

"Wanna hug?" he asked, waving his arms in the air as much as the scarves tied around his wrists would allow. Grinning broadly, Catherine's hands moved to loosen his bonds, pausing to gently rub his wrist, and then untying a scarf and pulling his palm to her lips.

"Thank you," she said.

"Thank me? For what? You did all the work. It's me who should be doing the thanking here."

"Thank you for trusting me, for letting me, for enjoying it so very much."

A faint and crooked smile appeared on his lips and his freed hand softly brushed her cheek, resting there and smoothing her face. His mesmerising gaze pulled her in and she was unable to break eye contact, not even wanting to.

"Other hand?"

"Oh, sure!" she exclaimed, prompted to pull her eyes away at last. Once both hands were free to do as they pleased, Jack grasped her in his arms and pulled her into a hug, gently manoeuvring her body to place her by his side, and lying with his forehead touching hers and arms enfolding her.

"You are so beautiful, so special," he declared, absorbed by her. "Still don't get what you see in an old guy like me."

"I think that's part of the attraction, that you don't get it," she replied, smiling softly and kissing the tip of his nose affectionately. "You're not old Jack, just older. And I'm older than I look."

"I kind of figured that," he replied, resisting the temptation to ask. One shouldn't ask, but wait for a woman to volunteer such information. He didn't care much how old she was anyway. All he cared about was she wanted him, enjoying his company as he did hers.

"Sit up and I'll take that jacket off," she suggested, so he did and she eased it off, along with his open shirt, taking her time and smirking smugly. Examining the Jacket as it lay in her arms, and then kissing the medals that adorned it, mouthing the words "my hero" at Jack, and winking teasingly, then she simply tossed the jacket and shirt on the floor carelessly.

"Hey!" he admonished with a frown.

"I don't think they're gonna get any worse down there than they did while we were making love, Jack."

"Sheesh, I guess so. You promised you'd uncrumple the jacket, right?"

"And I will. But in the meantime, let me at those naked arms and muscles!"

Jack laughed as she dived on him, pushing him back down onto the bed, kissing along one arm and squeezing his biceps. This woman was good for him, for his ego, his love life, and for the loneliness he'd been feeling before they met. She'd come into his life at exactly the right time and he was happier now than he had been for what seemed like eons. After her rabid arm attack, she settled down onto the bed and pulled him into her arms, which he reciprocated by enfolding her in his.

"First time I've ever been seduced by a feather," he commented, sighing contentedly and caressing her back tenderly. Catherine felt a great deal of warmth and caring in that movement of his fingers and her heart flipped with pleasure. She really, really liked this man – a lot!

"First time I've ever seduced anyone with a feather," she confessed.

"Oh? Seemed to me you'd had years of experience."

"Flatterer," she replied with a chuckle, fingers reaching up to his face and smoothing his cheek.

"No, it was a delicious surprise. Extraordinary. Different. It…" he tailed off, lost for words. "I'm not the greatest wordsmith in the world, Catherine, you probably noticed that." She smiled a response. "I-I… sometimes I wish I was. Words, or lack of them, bring me a whole heap of trouble."

"You do okay, flyboy."

"I just… crap!"

"You don't have to say anything Jack. You have talkative eyes, remember?"

"Not sure I'm happy that they can talk while I can't."

"You worry too much."

"That's me. Natural born worrier," he said with a smile but she saw from those talkative eyes that he was troubled. Easing his grasp of her, he pulled away and lay flat on his back, his eyes fixed on her ceiling. Catherine wondered what was going through that complex brain of Jack's – sure she'd noticed that he tried to seem simple but was far from that. She didn't know whether to tackle whatever was bugging him head on or leave it be, for now. Propping herself up on one elbow, she stroked his chest with her fingers, leaning down to kiss a cheek.

"You okay?" she asked.

"Yeahsureyabetchya," he replied, glancing at her briefly and then turning his eyes towards the ceiling once more. There was something about his expression and posture that made Catherine decide not to press the point, so she draped an arm over him, resting her head against his arm. Silence reigned for a while before she spoke again.

"Want that bath I mentioned earlier?" she suggested.

"Do you mind if we just sleep for a while?"

"Tired?"

"Exhausted. All that butt sitting gets to a guy," he joked.

"In that case, flyboy, you'd better sleep because there's more where that came from tomorrow."

"Can't wait," he replied in a slightly sarcastic tone.

"I promise more rewards for your patience."

"Definitely can't wait," he said more cheerily, turning his head to look at her and smiling. "More surprises?"

"Possibly," she teased, her fingers tickling him gently.

"Mmmm… something to look forward to, and that bath. I'm still gonna want that bath." Catherine detected the weariness of his tone and squeezed him tenderly.

"That's one promise I'll be more than happy to fulfil. Let's sleep, superhero." Jack grinned at that but said nothing. "Wanna spoon?"

"Spoon? Sweet!"

Without any further words, Catherine turned in the bed and Jack curled up behind her, snaking his arm around her and snuggling up close. He kissed her hair and mumbled incoherently, drifting off to sleep. Catherine closed her eyes and thought nice thoughts about her sleeping partner, but sleep eluded her for a long time and she just basked in the feel of his arms holding her safe and secure, until her daydreams allowed her to drift off to join him in his sleeping ones.


	4. Jack's Little Secret

Title: Jack's Little Secret

Author: Su Freund

E-mail: su freund ficwithfins com (insert . instead of spaces in the address)

Website: www ficwithfins com (insert . instead of spaces in the address)

Category: Angst, romance

Content Level: Age 13+. An Adult Only version of this story can be read on my website at the above address

Content Warnings: Use of mild language and sexual situations

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine)

Season: 8

Spoilers: Nothing specific but general for S8

Summary: When Jack's emotions are thrown into turmoil by Catherine's early morning activities, there are unexpected consequences

Sequel/Series Info: 4th in an occasional series. Sequel to "Jack's Delicious Surprise"

Status: Series but this story is complete

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2006 Su Freund

Author's Note: This story fulfils the terms of the August fic challenge on the One O'Neill Yahoo Group to use the phrase or words below: "Six inches long" or the word "short". This fiction uses both. Thanks very much to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for the quick beta and comments. However, any mistakes in this story are entirely mine.

**Jack's Little Secret**

He woke to find his arms empty. It was still dark outside and he looked at his watch. It was late - or maybe that should read early. When Catherine didn't return, he thought maybe she hadn't snuck off to the bathroom after all and got up, pulling on his boxers and slinking quietly to the john before setting off to explore the apartment to find her. A light shone under the door of her study and he could hear her grumbling to herself. Curiosity getting the better of him, he quietly opened the door and popped his head around.

"Watchya doin'?" he asked and noticed her gasp with surprise at his sudden intrusion.

"Oh! You made me jump! Couldn't sleep. You too?"

"Woke up to go to the bathroom, actually, and happened to notice you weren't in bed next to me, go figure," he replied, smiling as he moved into the room and closer to his lover. "So what are you doing on line at this hour?"

"You wouldn't be interested." She was trying to sit in front of the screen to shield his eyes from its contents, but Jack saw.

"I've got excellent eyesight, Catherine. Torture?"

"I, um, I guess I wanted to get a better idea of what you might have gone through," she replied, looking uncomfortably embarrassed at being found out.

"So, did you?" he asked evenly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, mind reeling with unbidden memories and deep seated fears.

Catherine was apprehensive about the dark look in his eyes. Not for herself as she didn't believe he would ever harm her, but for him. The memories invoked were clearly too painful and she guessed he tried not to think about those bleak days as a POW. And who knew what else had happened to him over his years of service to his nation? Catherine suspected his revelation about the Iraqi experience was just the tip of the iceberg, doubting she would ever learn the half of it.

"I'm kind of wishing I hadn't." She got up and approached him, grasping one of his arms tenderly.

"Told ya you didn't want to know, didn't I?" Jack found himself unable to meet her gaze. He didn't want her to know what he might have suffered, or to pity him, and shrugged off her comforting arm, feeling irrationally angry.

"How do you stay sane through something like that?" she asked, trying to enfold him in her arms, but instead of fending her off he was unresponsive, turning the anger into a withdrawal into himself, which in her opinion was way worse than his ire.

"You don't." The irritation was clear in the way he spat those words and Catherine wasn't sure if it was her he was angry with, himself, or those who had done him such grievous wrong in the past. She was determined not to let him shut her out but he appeared unable or unwilling to respond to her attempts at comfort, or look into her eyes.

"You seem pretty sane to me," she said, dropping her arms from her embrace and moving back slightly. This didn't mean she had given up. She was simply giving him the space he clearly wanted.

"I have my moments," he replied in a biting tone.

"Jack, don't push me away," she begged and he glanced at her briefly, trying to pull himself out of his self-imposed funk. After all, none of this was Catherine's fault. She'd just made a bad choice when choosing him is all.

"Sometimes it's better if I block things out and don't feel anything." He said, thinking he had to find some way to explain, but he had always been so crap at that. Jack wished he wasn't, but there it was. He had to live with it and so did anyone else who knew him. He realised he wasn't an easy man to be friends with and Jack felt a sudden surge of sympathy for anyone who tried. "I should never have told you. Moment of weakness I guess," he said, smiling thinly and looking ill at ease, "Um, maybe I ought to go home."

Catherine understood he was probably remembering way too much. Earlier, when he'd told her about it so matter of factly, he'd seemed okay. She should have known it wasn't that simple and she cursed herself for researching the subject on the web while he was in the apartment, and for raising those bad memories within him again. She reached out to him once more but Jack shook off her tentative hold and turned, walking towards the door.

"Please don't go," she said.

"It's probably better if I'm alone."

"No, Jack. You don't have to talk to me, or touch me, or do anything you don't want to do, but please stay." Her soft tone was laden with both sorrow and comfort as she wondered if she'd screwed up. If he walked out now would he ever come back? She didn't want to lose him. Jack O'Neill had become too important to her to let him go so easily.

"I don't want your pity, Catherine. Almost anything but that," he said, pausing in his stride and stilling. The tense, rigid set of his shoulders spoke as loudly as any words he could use.

"How can you expect me to feel less than compassionate? I care about you. I care about what's happened to you, what you must have suffered. Please don't leave, not like this."

Jack detected a hint of fear in her tone, and the compassion, but not the kind of pity he dreaded. Turning to face her, he raised his hands to stop her advance as she moved closer.

"Don't," he said biting his bottom lip, sighing, and looking down at his feet uneasily. "I'm kind of spooked." This admission gave her pause and she knew right then she hadn't lost him. He cared about her too or he would never have admitted this, or to that painful chunk of his past.

"Me too," she confessed. He looked up at this comment and searched her face, trying to fathom her thoughts but not wishing to probe and invoke a conversation he didn't want to have right then.

"How about I go back to bed and pretend I never got up in the first place," he suggested.

"Jack…"

He ignored her, effectively cutting off whatever response she'd been about to give, and turned away, striding back to the bedroom and getting back under the warming covers of her bed. She appeared at the doorway seconds later and stood there looking hesitant.

"Can I join you?" she asked.

"It's your bed," he replied somewhat gruffly, immediately regretting those words and his tone, but unable to express himself.

His reactions worried her and, shucking off her wrap and getting in next to him, she wasn't sure how to respond or act. 'Just be you, Catherine,' she thought. 'What else is there?' At least he had stayed. That meant something - probably a lot, and this fact alone was reassuring.

"I'm sorry," she said, reaching for his head and smoothing her fingers through his hair and over his scalp. This time, he didn't flinch away.

"Sorry? For being curious?" he said, his eyes roaming to meet hers.

"No, for raising demons and nightmares."

"I can do that pretty much by myself. Don't be sorry. I just… Catherine…"

Wordlessly, he drew her into his arms, squeezing hard, and then he pulled back to kiss her, gently at first but with increasing passion. His fingers caressed her silky skin, again gently initially, but with the fervour increasing. He groaned and she felt his manhood awakening.

"Are you going to make love to me?" she asked, slightly surprised by the turn of events.

"Definitely."

"You're a real horny flyboy, you know that General O'Neill?" she said jauntily, in an attempt to lighten the mood and ease the palpable tension.

"I try my best to live up to the Air Force reputation," he responded wryly, trying to respond in kind.

Catherine was relieved he seemed to be riding through the storm she had inadvertently created. Not much in the mood for lovemaking after the terrible thoughts the torture website had provoked, she decided to let him take her as he wished, hoping it would soothe his disquiet and desolation.

Tumultuous thoughts of what he might have endured rampaged through her mind and she tried to suppress them for his sake. He needed her now: needed her to be the positive, light-hearted one who would help him break free of the dark, bleak place he gone to in his head. So she tried to let go of her own gloomy thoughts and feelings. That wasn't going to be easy: maybe not for either of them.

Without any further words, Jack started to make love to her. But his actions were self-absorbed, as if he cared little for pleasing her and simply needed sex to meet his own selfish ends. Even while he knew this was what he did, Jack couldn't stop himself. His natural inclination was to give pleasure as well as take it, but right now he simply longed for gratification: long, hard and strong. How much would that test the strength of this love affair? 

"What the hell…?" she queried, but he continued, although he did turn his head to meet her eyes and she saw desperation, and perhaps despair, in those deep chocolate brown depths.

Disturbed by his smouldering darkness, and remembering her mental promise to let him take her as he wished, she was silent after that, allowing him to use a power and force she had never experienced with him before.

But Jack wasn't hurting her, despite his overwhelming need, and she knew with certainty he would never do that, not like her husband had done so many times before him. If he ever did, this would be over forever. She would never allow that to happen to her again.

After he had pleasured himself, Catherine expected him to ignore her and sleep, but to her surprise he didn't, instead pulling her towards him in an embrace and whispering 'sorry, I'm so sorry' over and over in her ear, overcome with guilt at his self-absorbed behaviour now he had satisfied his quest. If he had been a man given to crying, she suspected he would have wept, but he didn't, and she caressed him, muttering words of comfort and trying to assure him everything would be alright. At last he pulled back and met her eyes.

"I'm a selfish bastard," he declared, searching Catherine's eyes to gauge her reaction. She said nothing, simply reaching up a hand to stroke his cheek affectionately. He grasped her hand and pulled it away. "I don't deserve that."

"Jack…"

"Don't, please," he begged as if he was scared of what she might say to him.

"I told you, it's okay," she persisted, steadily meeting his gaze.

"No, it's not okay," he insisted. Instead of attempting to follow him along this circuitous route of guilt, regret and self-recrimination he'd chosen, Catherine smiled cheekily.

"So, how about that bath we promised ourselves?" she asked, and he was taken aback by this reaction.

"I-I, um…" he stammered, unsure how to respond.

"I'll go run some water," she said, deliberately ignoring his uncertainty. Her calm self-assurance and normality was exactly the reaction Jack needed to pull him out of his self-imposed funk and he let her go, watching her thoughtfully as she got up and left the room to fill the tub. She returned quickly, laying down next to him, kissing him tenderly on his forehead and soothing the skin of his back with her fingers.

"You're quite something, you know that?" he commented rhetorically. "Special." She smiled softly in response, saying nothing. "How could you? Y-your husband…" he continued, still filled with doubt.

Catherine's confession that her husband had been violent towards her had begun to worry him in the context of what he'd just done, which he considered as violent and inconsiderately self-centred. Jack had never wished to hurt or violate her. He respected her way too much. Although he knew his nature could be dark and aggressive, this wasn't his way with any woman and he bitterly regretted revealing that part of himself to her.

"You didn't hurt me Jack. That was nothing compared to what he could do to me," she confessed and Jack's heart quailed at this notion. "You think I would let you, or any man, do that to me again? Never again." He felt her shudder at the memories his statement provoked and pulled her into his arms.

"God, Catherine, you asked me this question earlier, so I'm asking you now – how did you remain so sane and normal, so full of self-confidence?" he whispered as he caressed her lovingly, his heart boiling with emotions of affection and admiration he rarely felt these days, even with her.

"I don't know. I guess I wasn't like that when I was with him. Not for a long time. Too long. He terrorised all that out of me, but then I got it back when I gained the confidence to leave him."

Jack remained silent for a while, simply holding her, his long fingers stroking her comfortingly. "I guess we'd better not forget about that tub," he whispered after his long pause.

What else was there to say? He never had been any good at the frank and free talking thing, although Catherine had a way of drawing it out of him occasionally. At this moment, he felt closer to her than he had to anyone for way too long, and he decided he liked it. It kind of scared the shit out of him, but he liked it nonetheless.

This relationship was becoming something way deeper than he had ever imagined and Jack thought it ironic his recent selfish act had only served to bring them closer together, silently vowing to make it up to her for his weak moment of egocentricity.

"Let's go then flyboy," she said with a carefree laugh, and he pulled away. She got up, taking him by the hand and leading him to the steam filled bathroom.

"I think I'm gonna enjoy this," he stated, as she turned off the water, pulling her towards him for a kiss.

"Me too," she agreed when they came up for air after their deeply passionate clash of tongues and urging him to get into the tub and submerge himself in the hot bubble filled water. She followed him in, snuggling between his legs and resting her head on his chest with his arms entwined around her body.

"This is nice," she said. He readily agreed and for long moments they remained silent and unmoving, not needing any words but just the cosy comfort of the hot water and each other's company.

Gently manoeuvring Catherine's body so her head was closer to his, Jack kissed her on the cheek, then neck. The thumb of his left hand glided over her shoulders and chest until his hand reached her breasts, which his fingers caressed softly. Easing his grasp on her, his right hand slowly roamed her body down to her thighs, which he stroked tenderly for a few moments before delving deeper, determined to give her satisfaction. She gave a soft sigh of astonishment and pleasure. "Jack!" 

The tender and expert touch of his fingertips and wandering hands was blissful to her. Biting along her shoulder, towards her neck, when his mouth reached her ear, Jack whispered her name with sweet warm breath and Catherine moaned. His tongue licked an outline around her ear before exploring within and she shuddered with delight.

Surprised by his body's reaction, because Jack believed that body was way too old and unresponsive nowadays to react that way so soon after a recent sexual act, he tried to suppress his sudden surge of lust, concentrating on Catherine's fulfilment. And when he was done, she sighed with satisfaction, turning in the tub with a wish to pleasure him again, although at first it seemed he didn't want her to do that.

"No!" he objected.

"No? You're kidding, right?" She was startled by his refusal.

"No! I wanted to give you pleasure." His facial expression was belligerently defiant.

"Oh?" Catherine was no fool. "Punishing yourself for what happened earlier?" she asked and Jack appeared discomfited that the reason for his refusal was so obvious, but then what other reason could he have? "Jack, you think I don't long to give you pleasure too? So, you had a self-obsessed moment. So what? You had your reasons and I wanted to give you what you needed. Please, let me?" she said reaching to touch him. "Don't be so stubborn." She smiled and added cheekily, "I adore that six inches of flesh. And I love watching you enjoy it."

He cocked an eyebrow with curious surprise at this notion and a small smile appeared on his face. "Me, stubborn? No way!" he responded jokily, jollied out of his negativity. "Hey, what's that about being only six inches long? Isn't that selling me a little short? Sheesh, the nerve!"

He chuckled, rolling his eyes mockingly. This was one area of his body Jack knew he could be proud of, despite his advancing years, so her comment wasn't in the least bit ego deflating. Smirking knowingly, she took his water-wrinkled hand in hers and kissed his fingers.

"Okay," she said, "I'll concede that point. In no way could you ever be described as short, flyboy. You're simply perfect." She winked teasingly.

"Of course I am," he agreed with a laugh, "you only just realised? Jeez, women! When will they learn?"

"Just shut up and let me seduce you, General O'Neill," she responded. Jack merely sighed in response, not objecting anymore but closing his eyes and relaxing so he could enjoy her attentions.

The water was starting to cool and she tried to ignore it, watching his face and the display of elation and ecstasy drawn upon it. Catherine loved those expressions of delight, the mixture of peace and frustration that was so hard to put into words. 'God, he's so handsome,' she thought, 'so sexy.' No doubt Jack would have laughed his ass off if he'd known what she was thinking: often his way of deflecting from any flattery. He just didn't seem to get the fact he was attractive and sexy, but this was part of his charm.

She stroked and petted him, continuing to watch and take pleasure from observing, and when her seduction was complete, he smiled, reaching towards her, and she sank into his embrace.

"You're so beautiful," he declared, "and you're cold. We ought to get out of here. I'm turning into a prune. A deeply satisfied prune, but I'm shrivelling."

"You're meant to shrivel after sex," she commented with a giggle.

"Ack!" he responded with an amused chuckle.

Catherine raised her head and smirked at him. "Yeah, I'm shrivelling too." So Jack urged her out of the tub, following and wrapping her in a large fluffy towel, grabbing one for him and leading her through to the bedroom. A trail of wet footprints followed in their wake.

Once they were both dried off, he stroked her hair and gave her a chaste kiss, manoeuvring her back into bed and enveloping her in his arms. Throughout all this they remained silent and he figured they should probably sleep, but felt surprisingly awake.

After a long while he spoke. "You awake?"

"Yes."

"Tired?" He felt her shrug.

"Kind of. A little. You?"

"Dunno. Not really."

"Wanna talk?"

"About?"

"Dunno."

Jack chuckled and encouraged her to meet his eyes. "I'm a lucky guy," he admitted. "Lucky Carter held her little get together in that bar, on that day…"

"I'm the lucky one, Jack," she responded and they silently stared into each other's eyes.

What Jack saw in hers surprised him and he wondered if this thing was going too fast for the both of them. He wasn't sure he could give this woman the thing her eyes told him she wanted. Maybe he wasn't capable of that anymore. It came as quite a shock to realise this beautiful, vivacious and confident woman might be falling for him. It made him feel good, and he was sincerely flattered, but he had never dreamed this might happen.

He surely couldn't be her type? They were poles apart in so many ways, and Catherine seemed so darned… independent and insular. Jack couldn't think of a better way to describe what he meant, but he knew. He hadn't believed she really took him seriously. This was just fun, wasn't it? A fling? But it was becoming more than that for him too, and Jack knew it even if he didn't want to admit it.

His heart soared with a mixture of complex emotions. When had things started to get so complicated? Was this what he wanted? Jack genuinely did not know the answer and parked it for further consideration, deciding to go with the flow.

That was when he surprised himself by opening his mouth and saying something he later realised was very un-O'Neill like, almost as if someone else spoke the words. Looking back, in one of his rare self-reflective moments, Jack wondered if his subconscious had intended it as a kind of test – a test of the strength of his relationship with Catherine.

"I need to tell you something," he said seriously, with a sudden and overwhelming need to come clean. Who the hell was pulling his strings? What had he been thinking about going with the flow? Who would have figured he'd flow into honesty mode?

Catherine furrowed her eyebrows together curiously. "Something bad?"

"Maybe. You're gonna hate me for it but I don't want to live a lie with you." Those words perked her up considerably and, with some trepidation, she wondered what he was about to reveal. Jack took a deep breath and blurted it out. "I ran a background check on you."

"You did what?" She was startled and annoyed, rapidly disentangling herself from his arms to sit up and glare at him. Her negative reaction came as no surprise to Jack O'Neill. He knew how much she valued her privacy and would never wish to invade it unnecessarily.

"Look, I work in a top secret government facility. I have to be careful," he explained quickly, sitting up to meet her gaze eyeball to eyeball.

"You didn't trust me?"

Her eyes looked dangerous and he flinched at her glare, never having wanted to upset her, but knowing his revelation would. He just wanted to be as open and honest as he could be; he wanted her to know. The question was whether the relationship would survive that knowledge. He really hoped so otherwise he might wish he'd said nothing and carried on as normal.

However, nothing about this was normal to him. His recent thoughts had made him realise he could fall for this woman with ease, although Jack was too protective of his heart to simply just let that happen. And there were other considerations too, although that fantasy was now lost to him forever so he had to move on. He pushed aside those confusions to concentrate on the moment.

"Yes, I did," he said truthfully, hoping she would believe it, "still do, but… aw, crap! I really don't want to screw this up with you. Have I screwed it up?"

"You think I picked you up in a bar so I could learn your secrets? Have I ever asked you anything to make you suspect that?" She was angry; maybe rightfully, although Jack had done what he believed a man in his position needed to do. He couldn't simply trust someone, no matter what his heart told him. There was too much at stake. His suspicious nature would be the death of him, although it had saved his life many times. This was part of what they paid him for, wasn't it?

"No, I told you, I trust you." Although he felt ashamed and wanted to look away so he couldn't see the hurt, anger and accusation in her eyes, he refused to hide, steadily meeting her censure. He wanted her to see the truth in his eyes. Would she?

"I don't know how to react to this, Jack."

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and sighed. "Pissed. I probably would be."

"Yes, pissed. Don't know if I'm more annoyed about the fact you did it, or worried about what you found and know about me now."

"You have to understand I did it because I had no choice," he tried to explain. "However much I might trust someone, or however I feel, I can't allow my emotions to cloud my judgement. I can't risk those secrets, or the people I work with – not for anything or anyone. They have to come first. Always."

"How can you live like that? You can't simply make friends with whomever you like? Christ, what kind of job is this? What kind of country do we live in?"

"It's not like that… shit!" He swore in frustration at his inadequate words. "I'm military, Catherine. And not just on the outside. It runs deep with me. It's what I am. Can't you just trust me?"

She regarded him in silence for long moments, trying to fathom her feelings and wondering if she was being too protective of her past. Did it matter what Jack knew about her? Maybe at first, but now? If there was anyone she might consider sharing that with, he came closest. Closer than any person had in a very long time.

Eventually she nodded. "Yes, I can trust you Jack. I do."

He seemed to let out a breath she had been unaware he was holding, and a half smile appeared on his face. The little smile that always made her heart flutter. His hand cupped the side of her head and he leaned forward and kissed her temple, moving the hand to clasp the back of her head, pulling her towards him for a hug and then burying his face in her neck.

"Good, that's good," he whispered, 'I don't want to lose you,' he thought. "I-I never read the file," he admitted, and it was true. It had been a difficult temptation to resist but he'd used all his self-control.

"Then what…?" she asked, pulling back to express her surprise at those words and look him in the eyes as if she might read his mind by doing so.

"I got someone to run the check and then tell me if there was anything I needed to worry about. They told me there wasn't, so I never read it. I never wanted to pry into your life. If you want to tell me about it then I want that to be up to you. I know how important that is to you. Can't say I wasn't tempted to read it, but I didn't."

"Oh!" That revelation had thrown her for a loop.

"Please don't be angry with me," he pleaded.

"You really, truly never read it?"

"No. I promise."

Before responding with words, Catherine smiled, grasping his arm and encouraging him to lie down again and, when she joined him, she urged him to spoon against her back and entwine his arms around her. Jack happily complied, thinking maybe everything was going to be okay between them after all. His thumb softly rubbed her skin where it lay draped around her torso and he kissed her shoulder. His hot breath on her neck made her quiver delightedly. There was just something about Jack O'Neill… Catherine couldn't put her finger on it, but it was there. Something special.

"I believe you," she said eventually, once they'd settled. "I never took you for a liar, Jack."

"I try not to be."

"You mean sometimes you are?"

"Some things I can't talk about, you know that already. Sometimes I-I have to, um, gloss over the truth."

"You mean lie?"

"Yeah, I guess."

"Like for example?"

"Okay, well say you start talking about a trip abroad and ask me if I've been to that country, right? If I was there because of an operation, I could never talk about it so it's easier to say I wasn't there otherwise I might get tangled in a whole web of lies I don't want to tell you. Does that make any sense?"

"What kind of operation are you talking about Jack?"

"The special kind."

"You mean covert stuff? You were in Special Ops?"

"Can't really comment on that."

"Ah! I see." She appeared to be mulling it over and Jack remained silent for a while to let her think it through but as the silence dragged on, he eventually spoke up.

"So am I screwed?" he asked, wanting to be sure.

"Only in a strictly sexual sense of the word, General O'Neill," she responded humorously.

"Oh! That's a relief because, well, I really like you Catherine, and like being with you. I, well, you know…"

He left so much unspoken and Catherine read into the missing words a great deal of affection for her, which was what really counted when it came down to it. She realised he need never have revealed any of this, need never have even started this conversation, and found herself pleased with what it implied for the relationship. It meant she was important to him and she liked that very much.

"I like you a lot too, flyboy."

"So we're okay?"

"I think so. It's given me a lot to think about but, sure, we're okay."

"For now, huh?" he said, reading this into her response.

"That's all anyone can promise, isn't it - for now?"

"I guess so. It's good enough for me."

"Me too."

After that, they snuggled together quietly, with no more need for words, simply happy to be there in the here and now. Tomorrow was another day and they would face that when it came.


	5. Jack's Great Weekend

Title: Jack's Great Weekend

Author: Su Freund

Category: Angst/Romance/Friendship

Content Level: Age 13+

Content Warnings: Language

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine)

Season: 8

Spoilers: Sacrifices and general for S8

Summary: "Frankly, he'd rather be shot by a zat. Less pain and it's over quicker" - Jack wonders why it's always him who has to play the hero.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright (c) 2007 Su Freund

Author's Note: Many thanks to the ever helpful Lynette (Flatkatsi) once again for looking over this chapter for me, and suggesting some corrections. Any remaining errors are entirely mine and the product of my feeble mind.

**Jack's Great Weekend**

Jack stalked with huge strides along the corridors of the SGC, Daniel by his side keeping pace with him.

"For the final time, Daniel, we are not having live sacrifices in the gate room, animal, vegetable or mineral."

"You can't have a live sacrifice with a mineral, Jack."

"Sheesh! God me strength. What have I done to deserve this? T's pissed because he thinks R'yac is marrying too young and Ishtar is annoyed with him so probably isn't giving him any, the SGC is like a cross between a farmyard and a Jaffa stronghold and now I have you on my back. Give me a break, will ya?"

"Well, normally I wouldn't ask because I know you better, but it's an old Jaffa ritual and Brat'ac thought I might be sympathetic..."

"He chose well." Without slackening his pace, Jack turned his head to glower briefly. "You know, I spent years listening to you waffling on about when in Rome yadda, yadda, yadda. Now it's someone else's turn. My base, my rules."

Daniel was silent for a moment, musing about his friend's apparent snarkiness. "So what's up with you, Jack? Catherine not giving you any?" he said, using Jack's own words against him.

Knowing a really decent glare would require him to stop walking, Jack paused in his stride, amused when Daniel almost tripped over his own feet trying to put the breaks on to pull up alongside. He didn't reveal that amusement, as it would have ruined that whole glare thing, so instead he eyed his old friend narrowly. 

"Actually, if it's any of your business, she's giving me plenty."

Daniel had been waiting to quiz Jack about the woman, but all his previous enquiries had been rebuffed, and he was delighted to have inadvertently found a way to get Jack to acknowledge the relationship for once. He'd grown used to O'Neill type glaring and barely noticed his expression, much to Jack's irritation, had Daniel but known it. A perfectly good glare totally wasted.

"So, still going strong, huh?" Daniel queried with an encouraging smile.

"Yeahsureyabetchya." Jack grinned as he replied, suddenly cheered by the thought, his sour mood evaporating.

"That good?" Daniel probed jokingly when he noticed Jack's preoccupied expression.

Momentarily distracted by thoughts of Catherine, Jack hadn't heard Daniel, and his friend wondered if that might be just as well. "Um, what?" Jack asked, breaking free of his lewd thoughts.

"Nothing," Daniel replied and Jack nodded, starting off down the corridor again, seemingly not in the least bit curious as to what he might have missed, to the younger man's annoyance. He was surprised, therefore, when Jack volunteered some information about his mysterious lover without further prompting.

"She's painting my portrait."

"Pardon?" It was Daniel's turn to stop in his tracks, but as Jack continued on without him he had no choice but to start off again if he wanted to find out more. 

"Catherine. She's painting me, in oils."

"She's an artist?"

"Sure. I didn't mention it?"

"You haven't said much of anything, actually. Is she good?"

"She's magnificent, Daniel," Jack retorted with a smirk.

"Er, no, I meant..."

"I know what you meant." Jack smiled slyly. "Yeah, she's good. Wasted in her teaching job but she likes it. She sure is a puzzle."

"I bet she says the same thing about you."

Jack chuckled. "Maybe she does. I never thought about it. I kind of like that idea. I sure am not a puzzle to anyone else, so it's refreshing."

"You think you're not a puzzle?" Daniel said, stopping mid-pace, and this time Jack stopped with him, spinning to face his old friend. 

"I'm an open book, Daniel."

"Oh? Is that what you really think?" Daniel was staggered.

"Sure, why wouldn't I?"

"How should I put this...?" Daniel rubbed his chin thoughtfully and Jack sighed, curious and impatient. "You are probably the most closed book I've ever met in my whole life. Will that do?"

O'Neill looked slightly bemused by that statement. "I am? Really?"

"You don't even realise?"

"You know me, I don't really think about that kind of stuff. Well, not much."

"Yep, that figures. You'll just have to take my word for it."

Jack beamed at the notion but then considered those words further. "Um... d-does that make me intriguing, or boring?"

"Positively fascinating," the younger man replied with a hint of sarcasm. "Oh, um, I thought we were going to the commissary... we just walked pa..." Daniel gesticulated behind him and Jack halted, looking around.

"Crap!"

Turning, he strode back to his original destination, abruptly stopping again to eye Daniel, who was trying to suppress a laugh. When Jack grinned and then started chuckling, Daniel loosed his pent up laughter and soon the two men were chortling merrily amongst themselves.

Sergeant Siler, who was passing further down the corridor, looked curiously at the two friends, the General and the Archaeologist, not for the first time thinking what an oddball friendship that was. You couldn't get much more unlikely, and many of the other base personnel agreed with that assessment. He figured adversity bred strange bedfellows and SG-1 sure had faced a lot of that. Cheered to see his CO laughing when he knew, from what Walter had told him, he'd been in a bad mood all day, he scurried off to inform his friend that he might be in for a more agreeable afternoon.

Late for their planned rendezvous with Carter and Teal'c, the pair hurriedly grabbed some food and joined them at their table. O'Neill made a habit of meeting up with his ex-team mates in a more social context every now and again. It was way too easy to lose that personal touch stuff now he was in charge of the base and Jack didn't want that to happen. SG-1 were like a group of old friends. He missed them, and certainly missed going off world with them.

If one way to get his kicks was to live vicariously through them, then so be it. Jack didn't find himself objecting to that, although the fact he no longer went off world on missions did kind of bug him. He figured he'd get used to it - eventually - but he missed the banter with SG-1 as much as he missed the missions, maybe more. So he saw to it personally that they arranged to meet up like this and chew the fat for a while.

O'Neill also did the same thing with other teams, so no one could accuse him of favoritism, even if they thought it. Most folks on base probably wouldn't blame him for being a little biased towards SG-1, but having the odd informal chat with each team once in a while was good for morale. Jack enjoyed it and, although he didn't know it, most of his subordinates admired him all the more as a result.

Jack tucked into his lemon chicken with gusto, letting his friends talk while he remained relatively quiet and observed them. Until he started eating he hadn't realised how peckish he was and he was happy to let his friends do all the talking and let it wash over him soothingly. Yeah, they had the knack of cheering him up all right. 

As usual, Teal'c had vast quantities of food laid out in front of him, including enough fruit to stock a local mini-mart. He could consume more in one meal than O'Neill normally had stored in his kitchen at any one time. That vast frame probably needed much stoking with fuel to keep it going.

Carter had opted for salad and was picking at it half-heartedly while they spoke, obviously not very hungry. No wonder she was so slender, but in an alluring kind of way, he thought, eyeing her surreptitiously. To look at her you'd never think she could fight so damned well. Carter could hold her own just fine, no messing.

Daniel had chosen the lemon chicken too, and was talking enough for all of them. Jack was sure the same piece of chicken had adorned Daniel's fork for the last five minutes, so figured his food must be getting cold. Idly, he pondered how many cold hot meals his friend might have consumed in his lifetime. Probably a lot.

What was it with Daniel today, he wondered? He seemed in one of those scornful type Jackson moods that he could be so annoyingly good at. Daniel's scorn didn't really bother Jack that much. He could let it ride over him and give as good as he got, if not better. But today he was in one of those pesky nosey moods as well, and Daniel Jackson poking that orifice into everyone else's business, especially his, could be downright irksome.

The three noticed O'Neill's silence but it wasn't an awkward one so they didn't try to force his participation. They knew he must have a lot on his mind. The SGC was pretty chaotic at the moment.

They'd been chattering away happily for fifteen minutes or so when Daniel suggested they get together at the weekend: perhaps a barbeque or a small party. Jack looked apologetic, and just a little self-conscious.

"Sorry, kids, no can do. I'm goin' to New York. Maybe another time?"

"New York? Get that much fishing done around those parts, Jack?" Daniel responded in a mocking tone, jabbing the forkful of lemon chicken in his direction. Jack wondered when any of the meal would actually reach his friend's big mouth and shot him a dirty look.

"I do many things other than fishing with my spare time, Daniel," Jack retorted.

"In New York...? Somehow, well, it just doesn't seem like the kind of place you'd spend your weekend."

Jack noticed Carter's small nod of agreement, although Teal'c didn't react with anything but a slight quirk of an eyebrow, instead stuffing a few grapes in his mouth.

"Well, normally it isn't," Jack concurred.

Daniel peered at him enquiringly, waiting for more, and when it wasn't forthcoming he frowned, sighing loudly and pointedly. "What was that about being an open book?" 

Carter and Teal'c appeared to be puzzled by Daniel's comment but he did not elucidate further, ignoring them and eyeballing Jack, who shifted in his chair slightly awkwardly, obviously not eager to say much on the subject.

In the end Jack sighed heavily, his hands gesturing surrender, but his tone laden with sarcasm, and a slightly irked warning. "If you're so damned curious, Doctor Jackson, I'm going to a fundraising dinner/dance thing... if that's any of your business." As he waved his own fork in the air, gesticulating in his normal exuberant manner, a piece of chicken flew off and landed in Teal'c's bunch of grapes.

'Oops,' he thought, hoping the Jaffa hadn't noticed. His three friends exchanged looks, regarding him with varying degrees of disbelief and curiosity. Of course, Daniel couldn't resist pushing it, despite his friend's hint to drop the subject.

"A charity dinner/dance thing does not sound like you," he commented dryly, wondering if it had something to do with Catherine. He couldn't envisage Jack attending such a function on his own, or choosing to attend at all, even with a woman he might be besotted by.

Spying the stray piece of chicken, Teal'c picked it out of his gapes with an expression of distaste and placed it to one side, eyeing O'Neill disdainfully. Jack sent him a silent apology with a shrug and a gesture before turning to Daniel.

"You'd think that, wouldn't you, but a man has to do what a man has to do and all that crap," he replied enigmatically, hoping none of his friends would press further. Jack didn't want to tell them he was going with Catherine, or admit she'd caught him at a weak moment. Sheesh! Weak moment it might have been, but he couldn't bring himself to refuse her. Internally, he smiled at the memory.

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They'd been arguing about the portrait Catherine was painting. Jack wanted to back out of the naked portrait idea, insisting it had nothing to do with being ashamed of his body, as Catherine claimed in an accusatory manner. In fact, he believed it was way out of line for a general in the USAF, despite Catherine's promises to keep the portrait a secret. He argued what was the point of keeping a painting secret? Besides, what if something happened to her? Other people might not be so obliging.

Catherine had to concede this was a good point and had no desire to humiliate her lover, or get him into trouble with his superiors. She agreed to paint over the nudity with his uniform. The nakedness beneath would remain their little secret. 

It was her mocking smirk that did it. The woman was damned close to irresistible, and Jack thought the one good thing about an argument was the kissing and making up part afterwards. So, when she smirked he decided the only way to wipe that off her face was to kiss it off. He almost kissed her whole face off, but that was by the by. One thing led to another, as can happen, and certainly Jack was up for sex. He almost always was with Catherine. She had this way about her.

So mere kissing and making up gave way to sex and making up, which was way better then the mere kissing part. That way Catherine had about her was pretty alluring. Jack could think of a few adjectives to describe it, fantastic and amazing being amongst them. She knew exactly how to get him in the mood, sometimes even after he'd pulled a long stint at the SGC and was exhausted. Fantastic, amazing - absolutely - and the rest.

It was while Jack was luxuriating in a post coital glow that she sprang her trap, innocently asking if he wanted to go to New York with her for a weekend.

"New York? Can't we just go fishin'?" he queried, taken aback by her suggestion. He'd been trying to persuade her to go fishing with him for a few weeks, but Catherine always found an excuse. He was pretty sure he could find a similar way of avoiding New York.

"I have an ulterior motive," she confessed, amused by his facial expression, which summed up his lack of enthusiasm about a weekend in New York without any need for words. 

"Ah! Now we're getting to it. Care to explain?" 

She smiled very sweetly, kissed his cheek and squeezed him affectionately. Naturally, Jack was entranced. Affection was something he'd thought he got used to living without most of the time, but now he had it he realised how much he'd missed it. No two ways about it, Catherine made him feel great about himself. She made him feel great, period. Jack liked that. He liked it a whole heck of a lot.

"I have to attend a charity fundraiser, a dinner/dance. I'd like you to come with me."

Jack arched his eyebrows with surprise. "Me? Dinner/dance? Does that sound like me?"

"Admittedly, no, although you generals have to do that kind of thing sometimes, don't you?"

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," he responded, puckering his nose with distaste. Sure he had to attend that kind of function sometimes, but only when he was obliged to. Frankly, he'd rather be shot by a zat. Less pain and it's over quicker.

"You'd be doing me a huge favor," she said, batting her eyelids. Jack wasn't dumb and knew she was attempting to charm him into agreeing. Sighing, he wondered at her motives, and figured he should gather more intel before making up his mind about anything. He owed her that, and himself.

She stroked his arm as she spoke and, against his better judgement, Jack smiled, feeling relaxed and content. "What's the story?"

"It's a big art event. They raise thousands of dollars for charity. It's one way the rich, glamorous and powerful give something back, or salve their consciences."

"The rich and glamorous are your kind of people, not mine," he commented.

"I might have been born and raised for that stuff, Jack, but I try to keep away from it. You know that."

"Then why are you going?"

"I have to. There's a big art exhibition as part of the whole thing. The art is being sold for the charities. They're showing some of my work."

Jack was impressed. "Wow, that's fantastic. Are you famous?"

"In a very small way in certain circles," she admitted, an apparently reluctant confession.

His eyes widened. "You are? You never said anything. And you teach at community college?" The mystery surrounding this woman deepened. Jack knew he could call up that dossier about her to read anytime, but that would be a huge breech of trust. He couldn't do that, especially not after the conversation they'd had. Besides, he enjoyed learning about his lover in that gradual way one should in a relationship. "Should I be asking you to pay me to pose for you?" he teased and she giggled. He wanted to ask why she'd never told him any of this, but didn't.

"So I have to go and I sure could use a partner."

Jack sighed, considering his options. "There must be some other guy whose arm you could use," he said eventually.

"It isn't just a matter of... You're the right man for the job. And we could have such a lot of fun together in New York."

He searched her eyes curiously and knew she was holding out on him. Something was wrong.

"What aren't you telling me?" he asked, reaching up to smooth his fingers through her hair. It seemed she needed his reassurance right now. Her expression... he couldn't quite put his finger on it. She paused as if in thought for quite some time before replying in a very small voice of the type he could never recall having heard from Catherine before. Her confident self seemed to have gone on a temporary vacation.

"My parents will probably be there, and Peter."

"Peter? Is that your ex?" She nodded, while Jack briefly pondered the irony of her ex having the same name as Carter's fiance. Now he understood perfectly why Catherine wanted him there, as well as the sudden lack of confidence and the expression on her face. She was afraid. In the circumstances of her life as she'd described it, Jack couldn't say he was surprised.

"Of course I'll come," he agreed immediately. No way was he going to leave a scared and vulnerable Catherine in the clutches of her parents or her wife-beating ex-husband. No sirree! But why was it always him that had to be the freakin' hero? 

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Jack realised Daniel was speaking and he'd missed what he'd said while recalling that fateful night. Not that he really regretted agreeing to accompany Catherine, at least he'd enjoy her company - it was everyone else's company that might drive him nuts. So not his kind of people, so not his kind of event, but he'd manage.

"What?" he asked Daniel.

"In a dozy day dream, Jack?" the archaeologist retorted caustically.

Instead of biting back, Jack greeted the retort jokingly. "Ack! I have important things on my mind, Daniel. I was just thinking about those stationery requisitions sitting on my desk waiting for signature."

He shot his friend a look that told Daniel not to push the subject they'd been talking about and, for the first time that day, the younger man took the hint, leading them away from Jack's planned weekend in New York.

"The trials and tribulations of being a general, huh, Jack?" he said with a small grin.

"I'm pretty sure, no matter how long I spend dealing with it, the pile of paperwork is always at least yay high," he replied with a grimace, indicating a ridiculous height of paperwork with his hands. Realising he'd finished his meal, he took a slurp of water to wash it down before dessert, observing Carter's low titter over the rim of the glass. O'Neill had to admit, the woman had a great smile and he still enjoyed making her laugh.

"Missing the more simple life of a colonel, sir?" she asked, absently taking a forkful of green leaves and munching.

Putting his glass back down on the table, Jack eyed her affectionately. "Not missing the pay check, Carter." He winked and her smile broadened. "But life sure was more simple then. Jeez, I didn't even have an office to worry about." He grinned and she suppressed a giggle. "And I kind of miss having holes poked in me by assorted nefarious aliens while saving the universe. How's that workin' out for you?"

Sam hastily swallowed the salad before replying. "It's working out just fine, sir, although I have a pretty hard act to follow."

He chuckled. "If you're talking about me, I wouldn't even attempt to follow in my footsteps. It'll only get you into trouble. That always did seem to follow me around. Still does. Am I a trouble magnet or something?"

"Does trouble magnet not form an integral element of your job description, O'Neill?" Teal'c inserted with a small smirk.

"Teal'c, old buddy, you've been hanging around with me for way too long," Jack commented with a smile, patting his shoulder. "I so knew I could rely on you for support," he added with a tinge of sarcasm.

"Always, O'Neill." This time, the Jaffa's expression was very serious and Jack smiled faintly and nodded almost imperceptibly at his friend. A moment of silent and heart-warming communication passed between the two warriors and both Daniel and Carter grinned.

"Same here," said Daniel.

"Me too, sir," Carter added.

"Right," Jack said, with a slightly self-conscious expression on his face. "So, assuming you're all around next weekend, and we don't get invaded and we're all in one piece, how about that barbeque? My place?" His ex team mates murmured agreement.

"Gonna invite Catherine so we can meet her?" Daniel asked, knowing the question would catch Jack off guard. His friend briefly glanced in his direction, then made a big thing of looking at his watch.

"Oh man," he said, "is that the time? Sorry kids, gotta rush. A general's work is never done, you know." He rapidly rose from his chair to leave, but Daniel was quicker.

"All those stationery requisitions, Jack?" he asked with a cheeky sneer, knowing his friend was deliberately avoiding the question about inviting Catherine.

"Can't run a base without stationery, Daniel," Jack responded, taking the dig in his stride. "Where would we be without all those forms, pens, pencils...?" He started to rattle of a long list of stationery items, drawing to a halt with an amused expression when he saw Daniel deliberately cover his mouth to hide a fake yawn. "Yadda, yadda, yadda?" he added with a mischievous leer.

As he started to leave Carter piped up. "You've left your cake, sir."

Turning to knock her out with a megawatt smile, Jack grabbed the cake, taking a huge bite and speaking with his mouth full. "Gee, thanks Carter. I'd never make through all those requisitions without cake." After winking, he swiftly strode away.

When he'd gone, Daniel eyed Sam. "Gonna take Pete to Jack's barbeque, Sam?" he asked. Jack seemed to have inspired a wicked mood in him and out of the corner of his eye he saw Teal'c arch an eyebrow, The Jaffa butted in before Sam could respond.

"Is this what O'Neill might call mixing the excrement, Daniel Jackson?"

Sam laughed and Daniel looked askance at Teal'c. "I think you mean shit stirring, Teal'c," he corrected.

"I think Teal'c knows exactly what he means, Daniel," Sam retorted, grateful for the intervention. She was wondering whether Pete would be on duty next weekend, and kind of hoping he would be. Daniel Jackson never did get a response to his question. 

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Jack had to admit he was slightly nervous about this weekend away. Not only was he expected to hobnob with a bunch of people who had more money than sense, and fend off Catherine's parents and ex-husband, but also this was the first time the couple had been away together.

Spending four days and three nights with Catherine sounded great in theory, but Jack wasn't sure how it might go in reality. It seemed Catherine had yet to figure out what an ordinary kind of guy he really was. By the end of the weekend, no doubt she'd realise, particularly when she stacked him up against her rich, arty friends.

He figured after a few days they might be getting on each other's nerves and griping. Relationships aren't all wine and roses, but Catherine of all people already knew that. Just because he wasn't an abusive asshole like her ex didn't mean a few days together would work out. 

She seemed quite keen, and Jack had even dared to imagine she might be in love with him. But being in love is a whole hell of a lot different from real life.

So, he anxiously waited for her at the airport, hoping his worst fears wouldn't be realised and this weekend would turn out to be as great as he wanted it to be, the fundraiser, her parents and ex notwithstanding.

Spotting her appear from right over the other side of the concourse, he smiled as she saw him and made her way over, not revealing anything of those doubts running through his mind. When she drew close, Catherine dropped her small case next to his and grabbed Jack, giving him a big sloppy kiss.

"Mmmm... that's the kind of hello I could get used to," Jack said, and Catherine grinned. Eyeing her case curiously he continued. "That's a real small case."

"We're only going for a long weekend."

Jack arched his eyebrows. "But you're a woman," he said light-heartedly. "I thought women always packed for the long haul."

"I don't need much. I can always shop," she answered with a smile, and Jack frowned. "New York and shopping tend to go hand in hand."

He peered at her with a jokey expression of disgust. "You do realise men hate shopping, don't you?"

She laughed. "Of course, Jack. I could always leave you parked in a cosy bar somewhere."

"Now that's what I call shopping," he replied with a chuckle, pulling her into his arms for a hug.

She snuggled up to him. "And then we could arrange to meet at the top of the Empire State, just like they do in all the best romantic movies."

"They do? We'll have to do that then, won't we?"

"You've never seen "An Affair to Remember" or "Sleepless in Seattle"?"

"Sound like girly flicks to me. You're kidding, right?" His tone was tinged with mock scorn and Catherine muttered something about tying him to a chair and forcing him to watch them one day. "You and whose army? Although the tying to the chair part..." he retorted jokingly, leaving the sentence hanging in mid-air like a tease. 

"Men!" she exclaimed, and although her face was buried in his neck, Jack imagined she was rolling her eyes and looking pained.

"I can be romantic," he claimed, defensively.

"Sure," she responded with a teasing tone.

"I can! Sometimes... a little." He pulled back and his face sported a huge grin, which made Catherine smile. Kissing her forehead, he let her go. "We ought to get moving."

He picked up both their bags and she objected, but he insisted so she acquiesced, lightly grasping the top of his arm to maintain contact as they strolled towards check-in.

"Are you looking forward to the weekend, Jack?" she asked.

"Um, kind of, I guess. If you forget the ex-husband, parents and rich friends, maybe."

"You'll do fine. I just hope I will." He glanced at her with a query in his expression. "I'm so pleased you're coming. To be honest, I'm a bit rattled."

"I guess that's to be expected in the circumstances," he said sympathetically, feeling selfish about his own bout of childish nerves when she had so much more to be fearful of. Jack didn't even pretend to believe he knew what she had experienced with her ex-husband, or her parents, but he understood very well the use of terror, intimidation and brute force - and what it could mean to lose yourself, and hope.

When he gave her a reassuring smile she squeezed his arm gently, grateful for his support, and they fell into a companionable silence as they checked in, navigated security and made their way towards boarding.

"Did you pack the dress blues?" she asked while they waited to board.

"Of course. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"I want to show you off in all your generalness, dripping with medals and all," she responded, beaming brightly.

"Generalness?" he retorted with a laugh. "Is that even a word?"

"Actually, yes, but I don't think it really applies to generals."

"Ah! Pity. I kind of like it." He grinned boyishly, kissing her cheek and draping his arm around her shoulders. Catherine giggled and briefly pecked his neck.

"I so hope this weekend goes okay," she said in a more serious tone.

"You'll be fine. I'll be there to protect you." He wanted to reassure her, be there for her when needed. Protecting people was one of the things Jack did best. Anyone who tried to harass or harm Catherine would have to come through him and he could be an intimidating man.

"I mean us."

"Us?" he queried with an arched eyebrow, wondering if this meant she had similar nagging doubts to him.

"A whole weekend together? We've never done that before."

"Nervous?" he pressed.

"A little. I'm looking forward to spending all that time with you but... I-I just don't want to end up getting on your nerves." She looked slightly sheepish. "I'm being foolish, aren't I?"

Realising she probably was as worried about it as he was, and for similar reasons, Jack turned to face her, keeping one arm on her shoulder while his other hand gently brushed her cheek.

"No, not foolish. I feel the same," he confessed, capturing her gaze and heartened by the affection he saw in her eyes.

"You do? I would never have thought it."

He shrugged. "Me neither. Catherine, we'll be okay."

"I feel like a giddy teenager."

"Sweet." Jack smiled shyly and captured her lips in a lingering kiss. "You're not the only one."

"Oh!" she exclaimed, taken aback, but comforted that he felt similarly. "We'll be all right, won't we?"

"We'll be great." His smile was supportive and reassuring, and Catherine moved her head to nuzzle into his neck. Jack's thumb stroked her skin tenderly, and he eased her closer with his other arm.

Despite the trepidation he felt about the fundraiser, and her rich friends and relatives, for the first time since she'd suggested this weekend away, Jack really believed what he said. They were going to be great, and so was their weekend.


	6. Jack Has a Ball

Some readers thought the previous chapter of this story too short, and maybe they were right. This one is quite the opposite, extremely long. But muses will be muses and mine simply wouldn't stop, so I make no apology for it, just provide the warning - Su

Title: Jack Has a Ball

Author: Su Freund

Category: Angst/Romance

Content Level: Age 13+. An Adult Only version of this story is available on my website if people are interested. See link to my website in my profile, and access through link to fic in my "What's New" section on the main index page of the site

Content Warnings: Use of both mild and vulgar language. Sexual situations

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine)

Season: 8

Spoilers: Reference to Smoke and Mirrors

Summary: He just knew things were going to go from bad to worse. Maybe if he was lucky… but Jack suspected he wasn't going to be that lucky. Holy mother!

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2007 Su Freund

Archive: My site, Jackfic, FanFiction Net

Author's Note:

1. I wrote this chapter for Lynette (Flatkatsi) who supplied the original plot bunny that inspired me to write it, Jack dripping with medals notwithstanding. Thank you for the bunny, Lynette. I had such fun writing this, and getting carried away with the idea.

2. Also, Lynette deserves many thanks for beta reading the story and making her ever helpful comments/corrections. I subsequently tweaked the story a little (adding some extra naughtiness for those people who read the adult version) but, that aside, all errors found in this fiction would in any event be wholly mine.

**Jack Has a Ball**

This so wasn't Jack's day. First, he failed to wake up before his alarm went off. This was such a rare event it threw him for a loop from the get go. The alarm was a failsafe but he was so used to waking early that he never needed it, hence he woke with a start, instead of naturally. Temporarily discombobulated, he reached for a non-existent side arm, ready to confront an equally non-existent enemy, before realizing he was safe at home in his own bed.

The adrenaline rush provoked by the fight or flight response might have energized him, but as neither fight nor flight were necessary he was left feeling somewhat disoriented and disturbed, as if he'd forgotten something important. Somewhat akin to waking from a nasty nightmare, the experience turned his mind to dark and negative thoughts. Jack had much experience of bad dreams and should have been used to that disconcerted feeling, but this familiarity did nothing to settle him.

Because he'd overslept, he had to rush his morning shower when normally he took his time, relishing the hot jets of water awakening his tired flesh and fuzzy head. Man, he was getting old! There had been a time when he was neither fuzzy headed, nor tired of muscle or flesh on awakening. Back in the days when he was regularly out there saving the universe for his sins, he'd been immediately alert and active. It seemed those days might be well and truly over. Jack blamed it squarely on the desk job and never ending piles of paperwork.

Being in charge of the base was so radically different to simply being in charge of SG-1. Both jobs had their unique stresses and strains but, nowadays, O'Neill had weightier problems to contend with and felt their impact way more often than he cared to admit. And he thought life had been complicated before. Oh, man! How had General Hammond done it? Jack was a novice by comparison and his respect for the man, already right up there, had increased by several notches since he'd taken the job.

After the hurried shower, he gulped down a similarly rushed cup of coffee, and at such considerable speed that his throat was raw from its burning heat. Unwittingly, he also left the house wearing odd socks, which soured his mood still further. And then… a long list of small misadventures had occurred, and all this before he even made it into the mountain.

Jack hoped this bad start wasn't a sign of things to come because he could do without it being one of those kinds of days. He prayed this wasn't going to be the day some over dressed, pompous, egomaniacal, bad-assed alien with a penchant for pretending to be a god chose to invade planet Earth. Heaven help the human race if it was because General Jack O'Neill sure wasn't feeling much up to saving the planet. Wryly, he thought it surely had to be someone else's turn to do the planet saving thing anyway. Just as well.

Admittedly, even if the multitude of small mishaps hadn't occurred, even if the worst case invasion scenario didn't happen today, even if it turned out to be a perfectly normal day, Jack wasn't really looking forward to arriving at the SGC. He just knew things were going to go from bad to worse. Maybe if he was lucky… but Jack suspected he wasn't going to be that lucky. Holy mother!

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After his weekend in New York with Catherine, it pissed Jack off that the trivialities of getting up in the morning on the wrong side of the bed blighted his resultant up beat mood. The weekend had gone pretty well. In fact, it had been great, no doubt about that, with the possible exception of one or two relatively minor points - like Catherine's ex, her parents and some of the snobs who consider themselves the great and the good.

He tried not to let all that crap bother him because, more importantly, he and Catherine had been pretty damned amazing together and his passion for the woman had deepened. However, it was difficult to ignore that part of the weekend because it was, after all, what they traveled all that way for.

The building used to stage the event was of the older and more elaborate variety. The organizers hosted pre-dinner socializing in a large and ornately decorated room, hung with po-faced portraits of various luminaries associated with New York in bygone years. Huge chandeliers shone and twinkled from the intricate high ceiling, and a large, well stocked bar dominated one end of the room. O'Neill was vaguely impressed.

Peter Rodgers, probably of the Boston Rodgers or some such, and Catherine's ex, was one of those men Jack would have taken an instant dislike to even if he hadn't known the guy was wife-beating scum. That knowledge was merely one of the many nails in Rodgers' coffin. The man's smile was so phony it was reminiscent of Robert Kinsey on a good day, if the Senator ever had one of those.

O'Neill was a man with a mental list of the people he'd happily see in his own private cemetery while wearing a gratified smirk at their funeral. Kinsey, of course, was close to the top that list, but Rodgers was hanging on to a place just behind, ramming right up the Senator's rear end.

The phony smile was bad enough, and that was before Rodgers even opened his mouth. Jack found himself asking what the heck Catherine had ever seen in the man that made her accept a marriage proposal. But he figured anyone can make mistakes and Rodgers must have some charm hidden away somewhere. Just because Jack couldn't see it, didn't mean it wasn't there.

Sure, he exuded that type of poise the rich so often have in their manner, and he was good-looking in a sneering rat-assed bastard kind of way. Jack, however, filed the "what the f…?" question for use sometime when he and Catherine were alone, and the time was right to broach such a personal, probing subject.

As for Catherine's parents, they were snobs in the worst possible way. Jack couldn't figure how they'd managed to raise such a terrific daughter. He really got the point of why Catherine had severed most of her ties with her family. You can choose your friends, as they say… although some of those also left a lot to be desired, at least in Jack O'Neill's book.

Catherine had been so insistent on Jack wearing his dress blues, wanting to show him and his vast array of medals off. O'Neill hadn't objected to that. Dress blues might not be his favorite attire, he favored the casual, but he was proud of the uniform and what it represented, and it certainly beat black tie. However, from the way some of the guests looked down their noses at him, it seemed a lot of those snooty artsy fartsy folk didn't see the USAF in quite the same light as Jack O'Neill.

He didn't really care what they thought about him, although was bothered about how it might impact on Catherine, and believed it downright disrespectful of the American flag and the armed forces. His comrades in arms both risked and gave their lives to protect these people and keep them in the manner, and money, to which they'd grown accustomed. O'Neill believed they should show a little more respect and appreciation, but it seemed being a member of the armed forces wasn't in vogue right now – or not with many of the artsy crowd.

Jack had no doubt these people, including Pete Rodgers and Catherine's parents, would be the first to claim they were red blooded patriots. Yeah right! 'Get rid of the armed forces and see how much they like defending themselves,' Jack thought, 'and how long these jerks and their way of life would last.' You betchya!

What he thought and how he behaved were two different things entirely, of course. Jack was polite and at his most charming. Polite and charming simply didn't seem to cut much ice with some of the people he met. Your name, your background, your money, your power or your fame – that's what really seemed to count with many of those folks. One star generals didn't necessarily make the grade. Maybe if he'd been born to the Boston O'Neills… sheesh!

To be fair, not everyone had the same attitude, and Catherine was a star, being 100 supportive and talking him up to her friends and acquaintances in no uncertain terms. But Jack sensed the discomfort of many and the admiration and respect of the few. It was only later in the evening that attitudes seemed to change, but first things first.

The discomfort couldn't have been more palpable than when Catherine first introduced Jack to her ex and parents. He and Catherine were doing the rounds, making polite conversation, most of which he left up to her, or when it came to discussing art anyway. After all, what did he know about art?

Earlier, they'd attended the exhibition and Jack couldn't fathom most of it. He never had worked out the whys and wherefores of modern art. Give him something that looked like a real something any day of the week. What was so wrong with Leonardo, Rembrandt, or Turner? Jack had mainly lost it with art somewhere shortly after Impressionism.

Not all the art at the exhibition was of the modern, totally unfathomable kind, however, and he'd seen a lot of stuff he'd quite liked, as far as he knew what he liked. Catherine's works had ranked among them and he'd shocked her by buying one of them, despite being more than slightly nonplussed by the asking price - not half as nonplussed as Catherine was when he stumped up his hard earned cash.

Jack was well aware she would happily have given him one or more of her paintings but he'd taken such a liking to one on display that he couldn't resist the temptation. The painting was a self-portrait: her beautiful head, shoulders and totally adorable naked breasts. Catherine positively glowed in it and Jack fell in love on the spot. He simply had to have it.

She objected to the idea of Jack spending such a princely sum, told him he could have any of her paintings for free, promised she'd paint him another like it and did everything she could to dissuade him. He told her it was irresistible, and for charity, so bought it anyway, knowing she was thrilled and flattered that he did.

Her reaction alone was worth every dollar: the dancing light in her eyes, the brilliant smile on her face, the adoring look of admiration, the long lingering kiss when they were alone again, and the unspoken promise of more to come. So worth it!

Besides, he really, really liked the painting. She'd captured the essence of Catherine, just as she had captured the essence of O'Neill in the portrait she was painting of him. His portrait knocked him out. It wasn't finished, far from it, but he could see what it said about him, and it was him through and through. Catherine seemed to see him as him - all the complex stuff alongside the simple, the positive alongside the negative. She'd caught all of it on canvas.

He so loved the way she saw him. Raw O'Neill. How she portrayed him, the fact that she seemed to get right to the heart of him, was a heartwarming delight. Most of all he loved that she so obviously liked what she saw, warts and all. She seemed to get it, get him, and you couldn't get much better than that.

Her self portrait did the same thing. It showed her just as Jack increasingly saw her during the course of their developing relationship and growing intimacy. It was Catherine as Jack saw, knew and loved her. Love? Maybe that was going too far. He wasn't sure about that. Jack was reluctant to give it too much thought for fear of spoiling what they had for what might never be. But her portrait was just so her that he had to have it. He would hang it in his home as a constant reminder of Catherine when he was alone and lonely, then he could remember he wasn't so alone and lonely anymore because he had her, at least for now.

At the exhibition, she'd introduced him to some of the people they would meet again later that night, and at the fundraiser most of those people had been friendly and open in greeting and chat, not in the least perturbed by the uniform he now wore. Not so for everyone, as already explained, but not many of them had encountered Jack out of uniform so the O'Neill charm and wit wasn't given the chance to shine through their pre-conceptions.

Anyway, they were doing the rounds at the dance, some encounters positive, some downright negative, when Catherine's hand grasped and tightened around his, and he heard a sharp intake of breath and felt her stiffen. Immediately, Jack knew what was about to happen and he squeezed her hand and turned his head towards hers.

"It's okay, Catherine," he muttered in a low, reassuring voice. "I'm here." She smiled at him weakly and then plastered a probably overly bright smile on her face.

"Well, I'd heard you were here, Catherine," said the woman Jack took to be her mother in a snotty tone, turning to look him up and down with an even more disdainful expression on her face and in her manner. "Who is this?"

"General Jack O'Neill, mother. Jack, these are my parents, and this is Peter Rodgers, my ex-husband."

Jack plastered an equally bright smile onto his face and held out his hand to shake theirs politely. "Pleased to meet you, sir, ma'am," he said, and her parents shook his hand frostily, too well-mannered to do otherwise. Even Rodgers shook his hand, albeit with obvious reluctance and antipathy. Jack figured the man had many reasons for disliking him, given Catherine thought he still wanted her to be his wife and all.

The conversation that followed was somewhat stilted and of the small talk variety. They talked about the exhibition, the charities and some mutual acquaintances for a while, all very polite. Jack got the impression they were being civil because it was expected and things might have been slightly different had this meeting taken place in a more private arena. He chimed in when he felt able to, but knew nothing about Mrs. so and so of such and such and the like, so Jack mainly remained frozen out of the dialogue.

When Catherine loosed her grasp on his hand, Jack responded by placing an arm casually, but meaningfully, over her shoulder.

"This is your, um, boyfriend, Catherine?" her father asked, seeking clarification to ensure there was no misunderstanding of Jack's role in his daughter's life.

"I suppose you might say that, father, although boyfriend doesn't really do the relationship justice." Jack tried not to smirk at Catherine's response and the shocked looks of her parents and ex.

"You've sunk this low?" Rodgers asked nastily, making Jack want to punch him out without further ado, which of course he didn't. Instead, the polite smile remained on his face with no sign of a reaction.

Catherine's eyes narrowed. "Actually, I prefer to think I've gone up in the world, Peter," she retorted sarcastically.

"Catherine, you shouldn't speak to your husband that way!" her mother snapped haughtily, looking around to ensure no one had heard.

"Ex-husband, mother," she reminded them, although strictly speaking this wasn't true.

It had hurt Jack a little that Catherine had lied to him. Okay, it had been in the earlier days of their budding relationship, before they'd got quite so involved, but that didn't mean it hurt any the less. She'd given him the distinct impression she was divorced from Rodgers and the break up of their marriage had been many years before, but they were separated, not divorced, and this had only happened a couple of years ago.

She had 'fessed up to Jack because she trusted him now, and he needed to know the truth before he met these people. Truth will out, as they say, and Catherine suspected Jack could discover her secret this weekend because it might come up in conversation with almost anyone who knew her at the fundraiser.

In bed a few days before, having made love to him in spectacular fashion, she'd coughed up; admitting she had been fearful Jack might have qualms about a love affair with a still married woman. O'Neill knew she was right to be doubtful. He would never have continued with their relationship if she'd told him she was married. That so wasn't Jack O'Neill's style, just as Catherine had suspected. Nor was it such a good thing for a General in the USAF to be caught with his pants down carrying on with a married woman. In a perverse way he was flattered she had thought him worth the lie.

Jack was angered on her behalf about her husband, the way he had treated her, which she revealed to him in more gory, Technicolor detail, and the way he still treated her. He was sickened at heart by her confessions: the beatings, the mental cruelty, the faithlessness. Not only that, but the man still pursued and pestered her.

Admittedly, he hadn't laid a finger on her since their separation, although she told Jack it had come close, but he menaced her with letters and emails and calls, as well as the occasional impromptu visit to the Springs. He frightened and intimidated her, and Catherine was scared she was too weak to continue standing up to him, that she might give way.

On top of that confession, she exposed another lie. Catherine had told him her parents were unaware of her abuse at her husband's hands. This wasn't strictly true either. She had tried to tell them but they simply had not believed her. Rodgers was the son of old family friends, rich and powerful ones. He'd strenuously denied her allegations, was charming and innocent in his demeanor, accusing her of wicked lies. He had smeared her reputation with her family and friends, lying about faithlessness and deceit, all the time claiming he would willingly take her back and forgive her. They believed him and ended up taking his side instead of supporting her.

Catherine's apparent treachery, and the desertion of her faithful and loving, seemingly perfect husband, had embarrassed them, brought shame to their family, or that's the way they saw it anyway. And they continued to apply the pressure and persuade her back to him and the way of life they thought she should be leading. So far, she had resisted, using all her strength to keep them at arm's length – so far.

As she told him this, Jack's heart had broken for her. Catherine was clearly humiliated and upset that her parents didn't believe in her, or the truth of her words. This and her obviously heartfelt contrition had helped soothe the pain of her lies. They'd stayed awake for a long time discussing it, Jack soothing and comforting her, Catherine thoroughly ashamed of herself. Her heartbreak, tears and pain rocked his foundations and he gave her more of his heart and soul than ever, his feelings for her expanding and intensifying, although he didn't admit that to himself.

Jack understood, he really did. He knew all about pain, heartache and shame. He knew all about the need for lies, and hiding one's true self and feelings behind a mask. Who better than him to understand?

In the end, the experience had served to bring them closer together rather than tear them apart as she feared. Jack was mollified about the continuing marriage by the fact that the separation was legal, rather than informal. His reputation would remain in tact. Not that he was sure whether he gave two hoots about his reputation anymore, but he cared about the repute of the USAF and would not wish to sully it. Anyway, he was probably way too deeply involved with Catherine to back away now.

It was a very good thing she had told him, as Rodgers' response might have come as something of a shock otherwise.

"Not legally speaking, Catherine," Rodgers intervened with great delight, eyeing Jack and not realizing how thin the tightrope was he walked upon. "When you come running back to me, which you will, no doubt I'll forgive you, darling. We belong together, you know that." He wore a supercilious, confident smile that Jack longed to wipe off his face and Catherine shot her ex a look but said nothing. "I can't believe you left me for the likes of this," he said waving a scornful hand in Jack's direction, "and such a mundane life."

"Well, there was never a dull moment with you, was there, Peter?" she responded.

"Oh you aren't going to rehash those old lies again, are you darling?" Rodgers replied, getting looks of encouragement from both of Catherine's parents. He moved towards Catherine and Jack removed his arm from around her shoulder and blocked his path.

"I wouldn't," he said, calmly, his demeanor belying the seething anger boiling beneath the surface.

"This is none of your business. Catherine has brought shame to our family. She should go back to her husband where she belongs," her mother said interferingly but, although angered by her words, Jack ignored her, keeping his eyes on Rodgers, who made to push passed him.

"I said I wouldn't," Jack repeated more emphatically, pressing his hand on Rodger's chest to stop him moving.

"She belongs to me," the man spat in response, still seemingly unaware of the danger lurking within the man he considered a rival.

"She doesn't belong to anyone, least of all you."

"She's my wife. This really isn't any of your concern."

"Catherine made it my concern. If she wanted to go back to you, that's where's she'd be. As it is, I think she prefers men who don't knock her into next Sunday week to get their kicks."

An audible gasp came from Catherine's parents. Not only were they perturbed there might be an embarrassing public altercation, but a man they hardly knew had accused their sainted son-in-law of something they had never believed possible of him.

"Now, look here, general whatever you name is," Catherine's father interrupted, "Peter would never do anything like that. You shouldn't take my daughter's word for anything."

Jack looked at the man with barely veiled disgust. "Really? Well, she's your daughter and you should. You two ought to be ashamed for taking the word of this scum over your own daughter's, so please don't bother lecturing me on what's right and proper because I think you gave up your right to do that a long time ago. And you have the nerve to want her to go back to all that humiliation and pain!"

Catherine seemed gratified by those words of support but her father looked aghast. "How dare you speak to us like that," he replied with scarcely concealed anger, but keeping his voice as low as his ire would allow. Meanwhile, Rodgers tried to take the opportunity to duck around O'Neill, who was alert to his move and grabbed his arm. The man winced at his powerful grip.

"As for you, you piece of shit, unless you want a public scene, I really wouldn't recommend taking another step. Now why don't you be a good boy and walk away while you still can?" The air of menace was apparent in Jack's tone and, so far, no one else in the room seemed to have noticed the small tableau presented by Catherine's family. The noise of incessant chattering, background music and the preoccupation of the other guests saw to that.

Deciding they ought to beat a retreat while they could with dignity in tact, before her uncouth boyfriend embarrassed them, Catherine's mother touched Rodgers on the arm. She seemed shocked by the hateful expression he shot at her for interrupting and backed away, slightly fearfully. Quickly pulling himself together, Rodgers put on the fake charm, fake smile, and fake acquiescence, taking the hint and turning away, but not before saying something to Jack in a quiet tone that no one else heard.

"This is not finished."

Jack's expression remained blank and composed, which made it even more threatening, if Rodgers had been savvy enough to read it. "I'm ready for you, Rodgers. I'd just love an excuse to kick your butt."

O'Neill realized the man hadn't grasped what he might be getting into, but didn't care. All the better for teaching him a lesson if he threatened Catherine in any way. It wouldn't be the first time someone had seriously underestimated O'Neill, and he doubted it would be the last. He could use that to his advantage, and often did.

The threesome walked away, muttering amongst themselves, no doubt insulting both Jack and Catherine, but Jack was convinced this was not going to be the end of it – far from it.

Catherine leaned into him and kissed his cheek, grasping his arm and smiling. "Well that went better than I thought," she commented.

"I hope I didn't embarrass you," he replied with concern for her feelings.

"They were the embarrassing ones. How dare they speak to you like that! How could they?" Her cheeks flushed slightly as she thought about how insulting they had been about him, although she was aware things could have been far worse.

"Hey," he responded in his best reassuring manner. "I don't care what they think. I care what you think."

She leaned into him and he could feel her trembling. "Thank you for being here, Jack."

"That bastard…" he cursed. He gave her a comforting squeeze, kissing her hair softly, and it seemed to calm her slightly tattered nerves.

"I don't know what I would have done without you here."

"You would have done fine. You're stronger than you think, but I'm glad I'm here. Are you okay?" Deep disquiet laced his tone.

"A little shaken, but I'll be fine. I don't think I am as strong as you like to suppose, but you give me strength."

"Sweet!" he exclaimed with a broad grin.

Jack realized Catherine was not entirely the super confident, tough woman he had first thought her to be. Like many, including him, she wore a mask that belied the vulnerability deep within. He was certain, however, he was right about her inner strength, that it was stronger than she imagined, while pleased she believed he helped bolster that strength.

Certainly, he thought none the less of her for any weakness. Their relationship had grown way beyond anything to do with first impressions.

Catherine looked up at Jack, warmed by the broad grin. His smile had that quality, the ability to soothe sorrows and make everything seem alright with the world. "Thank you so much," she said. "You so deserve me to come away with you fishing for the weekend for doing all this."

"You don't need to thank me, Catherine. I'm happy to be here for you. It's right that I'm here. On the other hand," he added with a boyish smirk, "I deserve a weekend in bed with you for doing all this, but I'll happily take the fishing. We might get a little bed action in too." He winked and Catherine giggled.

Then an old friend of hers, one who had supported her through the collapse of her marriage, despite Rodger's lies, came over and greeted them both genially, and she reverted to the normality of that confident, tough woman again.

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As he entered the mountain, Jack suppressed his ire at the memory of those darker moments, quickly plastering his best General O'Neill expression on his face. He was oblivious to the whispering and inquisitive looks that went on behind his back and unaware of Walter's slightly curious and agitated expression as he greeted him at the elevator with a morning coffee. Striding purposefully to his office, he gave no thought to the low voices of tittle-tattle surrounding him, way too preoccupied to notice any of these things.

That was until he entered his office and spied the newspaper lying open on his desk. Initially, he viewed it with an idle glance. Then O'Neill saw why someone had left it there open so conveniently on that page, so he saw what they had intended. It was some smart ass's idea of a practical joke. The kind of thing a certain Doctor Daniel Jackson might do, for example.

"Aw, crap!" he cursed aloud, wondering how much gossip was already circulating around the water coolers of the SGC, and what they were saying. "This is so turning into one of those days!"

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O'Neill tried to stay in his office as much as he could, slightly embarrassed by what he suspected people might be saying, thinking about the newspaper coverage of the fundraiser, and pondering how to tackle it, or if he should tackle it at all. Idle gossip about the base CO probably wasn't something to be encouraged, although he was aware it happened. In this case, maybe it was a good thing. Surely, the coverage couldn't harm his reputation, but Jack was not a person who enjoyed people speculating about his private life.

As was inevitable, later in the day Daniel Jackson found an excuse to visit him, armed with a tray bearing two cups of coffee from his own machine and a selection of cakes from the commissary.

"I come bearing gifts," he trilled gaily as he entered after failing to knock on the door, possibly because he didn't have a free hand to knock with, or maybe simply imbued with the normal Jackson over exuberance.

Jack looked up from the paperwork with a distrustful expression. "Might have known you'd turn up," he said snarkily. "Is this your handiwork?" He picked up the newspaper and waved it in the air. As he slammed it back on the desk again, the manmade breeze caused some of his papers to rise into the air and waft onto the floor. "Crap!" he swore crankily, starting to get up, wryly thinking, 'Sooo not my day!'

Daniel hastily placed the tray of coffee and cake on his desk and indicated with a wave of his hands that Jack should remain seated. "I'll get them," he said, bending to pick them up. "And no it wasn't me, by the way." Placing the papers neatly back on the desk, he closed the office door and sat down without Jack suggesting he was welcome.

"Well, you're the talk of the town, Jack. Have a good weekend?" His smile was sincere and Jack almost believed him, but not quite.

"I'm busy, Daniel," he snapped dismissively, looking down at the papers on front of him and pretending to read.

"Coffee… cake…? What more can a man do?" Daniel asked, prepared to sit it out, and Jack's gaze grudgingly strayed to eye up the tray.

"Cake… well…" Jack's countenance brightened. "It really wasn't you who left the paper? Open at the right page I might add."

"Hand on heart."

"Then who?"

Daniel shrugged, clearly not able to answer that question. "By the time I got here this morning there were a number of copies doing the rounds. Nearly everyone was talking about it. You're the news of the day."

"Can't say that makes me happy." O'Neill peered at the selection of cakes. "Is that chocolate?" he asked rhetorically as his eyes widened at the large display.

"Yep, your favorite. Help yourself."

Placing the cake on the small plate Daniel had thoughtfully provided, Jack took a huge forkful and crammed it into his mouth, making appreciative noises as he savored the taste.

"I wouldn't worry about the paper, Jack, it's doing wonders for your reputation," Daniel said. "Surely it's a good thing to have your picture in the paper with a beautiful woman on your arm?"

Swallowing hard, Jack nodded. "I guess it can't do much harm," he said, his reply slightly muffled because his mouth was still full of cake.

"Quite the opposite. I can't get any work done for people finding excuses to talk to me and ask curious and intrigued questions. They think I know everything. Of course I don't, but it doesn't hurt my reputation to be slightly enigmatic." Daniel grinned and Jack snickered, greatly cheered by the conversation, not to mention the cake. "I have to admit, seeing Jack O'Neill in the society pages is not something I thought I'd ever have the privilege to witness."

Jack's snicker turned into an outright laugh. "You and me both."

"So?" Daniel probed curiously.

"What? I'm meant to tell you everything so you can stop being enigmatic and become the fount of all knowledge?" Jack deliberately bit into more cake, avoiding Daniel's prying stare.

"As if I'd tell." Jack looked at him through narrowed eyes, his disbelief evident. "I wouldn't!" Daniel protested vehemently.

Cynical gaze firmly fixed on his friend's face, Jack finished chomping on the cake before responding. "What are they saying?" he asked eventually.

"Something along the lines of 'wow!', 'who'd have thought?', 'is that the woman he was talking to at Carter's engagement party?' and the like," responded Daniel, and Jack smirked. "As I said, they're curious and intrigued.

"Didn't think the old man had it in him, huh?"

"I don't think anyone's saying that. Or not when I'm around. They probably wouldn't dare."

Jack chuckled. "Who are they scared of, me or you?" Daniel responded with a smile."Bet they're thinkin' it."

"Possibly. I think Walter's a little pissed he left Sam's party early and missed all the fun of you two meeting up. He's one of the biggest culprits, bending as many ears as he can manage."

"It might have been him who left this rag on my desk," said Jack, pointing at the newspaper.

"Could be."

"I'll so get him for that."

"Maybe he thought it was best you saw it so you knew what to expect." Daniel's tenor was placating. It hadn't been his intention to make trouble for Walter Harriman.

Jack waved a hand at the younger man, a slightly chagrined expression on his face. "Ack! Stop it with the good intentions. You're ruining my thoughts for a suitable comeuppance. Is that coconut, by the way?" he asked, eyeing the cakes again.

Daniel laughed at his friend's reaction. "Yes it is. Go on, Jack, spoil yourself."

"Don't mind if I do." He took the cake and placed it closer to him, and then reached for a coffee and took a sip. "You're not having any?"

"I'm waiting to see how much of it you can quaff down," Daniel replied with a sly smile.

"Buttering me up, eh, before moving in for the kill?"

"You might very well say that. I couldn't possibly comment."

The two men laughed good-naturedly. Jack and Daniel were old hands at verbal sparring matches with each other, quite the experts in fact. On some occasions, it could be irksome, but this wasn't one of them. Jack was thinking Daniel had improved his bad day tremendously, while Daniel was enjoying his old friend's company, whether or not he eventually learned any of the weekend's secrets.

At Jack's behest, Daniel picked a piece of cake for himself, and they sipped their coffees and ate cake in companionable silence for a while. Jack got the lion's share of the cake, but that had always been Daniel's intention. He knew his friend hadn't eaten since he'd arrived that morning and, although cake might not be the healthiest of diets, at least it would keep up the energy levels for a while.

Daniel understood his friend had a hard job to do, and sometimes struggled with the additional burden he carried, and the tedium of so much paperwork. Jack had a good heart and cared passionately about the work of the SGC, and each and every one of his subordinates. Sometimes Daniel took it upon himself to ensure O'Neill took care of himself for a change, even if it was something as simple as providing sustenance and good cheer through unwholesome but delicious cake.

"So, did you have a good time?" Daniel asked once they'd finished.

"I really should get on with some work, Daniel."

"Oh, come on Jack, throw me a bone. Then I'll leave you in peace, I promise."

"You expect me to believe it will be that easy?" Jack said with a smile, but continued. "We had a great weekend. The best. Catherine is a special kind of woman."

"She's certainly beautiful." He reached for the paper to look at the photograph. "And rich, and well known in these kinds of circles. You never said anything about that. What's she doing in Colorado for Christ's sake?"

"Getting away from those kinds of circles. Living an independent life. Doing what she wants to do. All that kind of stuff." Jack snatched the paper from Daniel's hand and glanced at the photo with a smile. "She certainly is beautiful isn't she?"

"Kind of begs a question…"

"What?" Jack queried, looking up to meet his friend's eyes. "Like what the heck she sees in a schmuck like me?"

"Something along those lines." Daniel was only teasing, although Jack tended to agree with him.

"Don't know, but I do know I'm one lucky schmuck. We're so different, different backgrounds, the whole thing. But as long as it's working, I'm not complaining, old buddy. And it's working. You couldn't be more surprised than I am, but it is."

"I'm happy for you, Jack, I really am."

Jack paused in thought before replying. "I know you are, Daniel, and she makes me happy."

"Is it serious?" Daniel asked more solemnly.

Once again, Jack paused before responding, observing his friend thoughtfully. When he spoke, his muted and faltering candor surprised Daniel. "I-I don't know. More serious than it was before the weekend, I think. We-we're kind of still…well, you know… developing… I guess." His gesticulations gave him an air of helpless puzzlement.

Daniel regarded his friend earnestly, noting the nervous disposition and slightly boyish manner. The archeologist suspected O'Neill's promotion, but resulting forced retirement from the field, had taken a toll on Jack, making him feel older than he should. Jack didn't deserve to feel like that, but it seemed Catherine was good for him, bringing a much needed flush of youth to the man.

The fondness for her that Daniel saw in his face eased those grey etched lines of responsibility, care and worry Jack had been wearing all too often lately. His burden seemed lighter. Daniel was delighted, believing his friend had earned the right to have someone special in his life. O'Neill had paid his dues many times over with loss, blood and pain.

Although his attachment to Catherine was apparent, however, those emotions clearly made Jack feel slightly uncomfortable. Daniel wondered what he was afraid of. Getting hurt, perhaps? Or maybe he feared dropping those barriers he'd so carefully built up around himself over the years. After so long spent as a solitary and private man it must be hard for Jack to let someone in, to let them get so close to his heart and his life.

Daniel wasn't sure he had the nerve to ask his friend such a question outright. There was only so far he could push Jack before he'd clam up tight and he never had been certain where that invisible line was drawn - it varied too much for certainty. Jack was far from a predictable friend, he thought ruefully.

The younger man nodded, a sage expression on his face. "I hope it all works out for you Jack, whatever you want from it. You deserve it, someone special, someone to be there for you. I'd really like to meet her."

Daniel's words affected Jack more than he wished to show, so he smiled and fidgeted, attempting to deflect the conversation away from such secret thoughts and dreams, particularly the ones he didn't even want to consider very deeply.

"I really have got a lot of work to do, Daniel," he said.

"Sure." Daniel rose from his chair, taking the hint. He thought maybe he should cut and run while he was ahead. Another day, another dollar and all that. "Get much fishing done in New York?" he asked with a devilish grin. As he left the room, Jack O'Neill's laughter rang in his ears, and Daniel returned to work with a grin on his face and a spring in his step.

Jack was in a much improved frame of mind too and briefly considered what a tonic talking to Daniel could sometimes be before picking up the paper and staring at the photograph.

"You sure are beautiful," he muttered. "We look pretty good together." His smile reflected his affection for the woman in the picture, and his distracted thoughts wandered back to the events of that weekend.

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The surprise of the night, at least to Jack, came when the President of the United States turned up at the fundraiser. No one had bothered to tell O'Neill his commander-in-chief would be dropping by and he was a might taken aback by that turn of events. Catherine swore she hadn't known either.

Jack learned later that the President was in New York for something else and many of the event's attendees were campaign contributors. He figured this was one way of keeping them sweet. Apparently, the President's schedule didn't allow much time for this charity shindig and, although he planned to appear, if only briefly, it was never certain he'd actually make it. The schedules of Presidents are prone to much disruption. For this, and security reasons, the plan was kept under the radar and very few of the guests had any notion he might turn up.

The packed but shifting sands of Hayes' schedule now allowed him sufficient time to stay for dinner, but not for the ball afterwards. He planned his attendance to be purely informal, but being the President of the world's most powerful nation, naturally a large retinue of flunkies and the ever present protection of the Secret Service arrived in his wake, as well as a photographer to record the excellent photo opportunities that would inevitably arise. Supporting the good causes of this fundraiser would do little to harm his standing, and much to bolster it.

Before they got down to the chow, Hayes was doing the rounds, meeting, greeting and shaking hands, with a few short words to each group of attendees. When he saw Jack O'Neill, that taken aback feeling was obviously mutual.

"Well I'll be… Jack O'Neill!" the President exclaimed with a warm grin.

"You're the last person I expected to bump into here, Jack."

Jack stood to formal attention in the presence of his ultimate commander. "At ease, general," Hayes said light-heartedly. "It's good to see you, Jack. What brings you to these parts?" The President gave him a friendly thump on the back and O'Neill allowed himself to smile briefly.

"I have to admit it's not my normal neck of the woods, sir." Jack replied solemnly, now standing at parade rest.

"No need for such formality here, Jack. This is an informal occasion."

"Mr. President?" he queried. 'You could have fooled me,' he thought, wondering what constituted a formal occasion and how many additional flunkies and Secret Service men accompanied the President on such occasions.

"For crying out loud, relax will you man?" Hayes insisted. Jack's stance relaxed back to normal at this command. Then the President spotted Catherine by Jack's side. "Catherine Fellowes?" he said, peering at her with delight. "It is you, isn't it?" She nodded and smiled. "I haven't seen you for years! Still as beautiful as ever I see. Don't tell me it was you who dragged this old scoundrel here?" He glanced at Jack with evident affection.

"Yes, Mr. President, I'm afraid it was," Catherine answered warmly while he shook her hand with enthusiasm.

While Hayes worked his Presidential charm, Jack noticed the Secret Service men keeping their vigilant alertness at peak efficiency, despite the averred informality of the event and the President's apparent affability with the guests. They weren't taking any chances, not even in the presence of a well-decorated general in the Commander-in-Chief's own Air Force. Rightly so, in O'Neill's opinion; can't be too careful. Any one of these guests might be a crazy, including him.

"You have excellent taste, Catherine," Hayes said with a wink, leaning closer to her ear and whispering. "Way better than that jerk you married. I see he's here. Lucky, lucky you." The muted tone did nothing to stop Jack's acute hearing from picking up those words and he smiled, feeling smug. Hayes' distaste for Catherine's husband was unmistakable.

In a louder voice he added, "Jack's a good man, and a genuine all-American hero to boot. You can't get much better than that."

His aides tried to usher him onwards but Hayes shrugged them off, stubbornly refusing to budge. Turning to them, he said, "Didn't you hear what I said about this man being a hero? I always have time for the men and women who put their lives on the line, you know that, and Jack just happens to be an old friend." The aides backed off and Jack could feel the eyes of the room on their small party. Oh, man!

"Where were we Catherine?" asked Hayes. "Ah yes, I was complimenting you on your choice of escort."

"He's certainly a charmer, sir, and simply dripping with medals," she said in a slightly cheeky tone, briefly taking Jack's hand and giving it a squeeze. Jack's responding smile made her heart beat with excitement. 'He is so hot!' she thought, wondering if they should leave the event early, and she should drag him back to the hotel and rip the dress blues right off his lanky but muscular frame. She chided herself for allowing her mind to wander while talking to the President of the United States, realizing he'd just paid her a compliment by telling Jack how much he envied him.

"Don't tell the wife I said so, though, eh?" Hayes added with a bright smile.

He stayed talking to the couple for a few more minutes, not about anything Earth shattering, and spent way more time with them than he did with anyone else in the room. Before moving on, Hayes insisted the photographer take some pictures of the three of them, muttering something in a jocular manner about photo opportunities with handsome couples.

"I'll no doubt see you at the White House again soon, Jack," he said as he moved to the next group waiting for his attentions. Then he winked and smiled, indicating Catherine. "Take good care of that girl."

"I intend to, sir," Jack replied, saluting smartly.

It was clear to bystanders that this was a man the President had some time for. Catherine's parents and ex happened to be close by and Jack couldn't help but feel even smugger when he realized. They looked like they'd been sucking lemons. Maybe they'd get the hint he wasn't a total dweeb after all.

After that, the previous disdainful and snooty attitude many of the attendees had towards Jack was gone. The other guests became solicitous, and respectful, curious about the one star general who seemed to be the President's friend. Suddenly, Jack was the man of the moment, surrounded by admirers.

Inwardly, he cursed them for hypocrisy while outwardly charming everyone's socks off, now they gave him the chance to shine. Catherine was delighted, albeit she agreed with her lover about the two-facedness angle.

When they eventually managed a few moments alone, she grinned at her hero of an escort and pinched his cheek with a tease. "You never told me you knew the President."

"You didn't tell me either," he responded with mock schoolboy tone. If they'd been alone, he probably would have poked out his tongue to emphasize the effect. She giggled girlishly.

"Socially or work?"

"Mainly work these days, but we've known each other on and off for a few years."

"Your job really must be important if you know him for work." Jack shrugged but said nothing to affirm or deny her supposition. "You're quite a guy, flyboy," she said, chastely kissing his cheek. "The enigma deepens."

"Enigma? Oh, puleeze!" Jack replied with a self-deprecating laugh. "Open book, that's me."

He recalled his recent conversation with Daniel about the very same thing, and how he would quite like being a bit of a puzzle to her. It seemed he was and that pleased him.

"Ya think?" she countered in an impersonation of Jack, but then another eager new so-called friend interrupted so he never got the chance to respond to or return her tease.

Shortly thereafter, staff marshaled the guests into a dining room that was even larger and more imposing than the reception room. The chandeliers were bigger and brighter, the decor more elaborate. Large circular dining tables sported an array of cutlery and glasses atop the white linen tablecloths - perfectly set – and surrounded the medium sized dance floor. At one end of the room stood a stage where the band would be playing.

O'Neill wondered if there were going to be lots of boring after dinner speeches before they could tread the light fantastic, looking forward to twirling Catherine around that floor for their first ever dance together.

He was truly thankful when the company at their dining table turned out to be quite convivial. One of the men, Bill, was an ex-marine who had later made a small fortune with a chain of popular restaurants, and was a great art lover. He happened to be a big Catherine fan, thrilled to talk with an artist he admired, as well as a general in the USAF. Jack later learned he'd insisted he and his wife sit at Catherine's table, and paid additional money towards the charities to make it happen.

Apparently, Bill had also bought one of Catherine's exhibited paintings and was keen to visit Colorado to look at her personal collection and persuade her to sell him something no one else had seen before.

Ever more impressed by Catherine's apparent notoriety and fame, Jack pondered his mysterious lover. She was unbelievable, not showing many outward signs of this background and celebrity. Although he had never pegged her as ordinary, the more he got to know her, the more extraordinary she seemed to be: totally fascinating, totally charming and totally beautiful. Intrigued and besotted, he wasn't certain how he felt about being so deeply in her thrall. He was waiting for the other shoe to fall. After all, there had to be a downside, didn't there? Yeahsureyabetchya!

He tried not to let his doubts nag at him and enjoy it while it lasted, because O'Neill was sure it couldn't last, and increasingly wondered what the hell she saw in an ordinary man like him. They were worlds apart. Suppressing those thoughts, because they led to a dark and depressing place, he turned his full attention to the other guests seated at the table.

Bill and Jack exchanged some light-hearted banter of the competing branches of the armed forces kind, and O'Neill liked him despite that he was a jarhead. Unlike many he'd met, the man hadn't had a sense of humor bypass. Jack could relate to his humor, and they kept the other diners amused, like a comedy double act, although discussed serious stuff too, so it wasn't all for laughs.

After the sumptuous and delicious feast, Henry Hayes had to leave and it didn't harm O'Neill's kudos any when the President made a detour to say goodbye on the way out. He was all smiles and overt friendliness, and other guests watched enviously.

"Wish I could stay, Jack," he said, "I'd steal the beautiful Catherine from right under your nose."

'Wanna bet,' thought Jack. "I'm sure you would, Mr. President," he murmured aloud, standing to salute. The President signaled him to stop, reaching out to shake his hand.

"I'd be a fool to try," he joked. "I'd rather have you on my side. Heaven help any enemy of Jack O'Neill." Hayes grinned amiably and Jack returned the smile warmly.

"Yes, sir."

Genially, the President shook Catherine's hand and then turned, flanked by his watchful and eagle-eyed minders and ushered hurriedly away by his aides, waving to the other guests as he left.

The brief goodbye got tongues wagging around the room, including on Jack and Catherine's table. Bombarded with questions, Jack was relieved when the music started up and the dancing began, serving as a distraction.

As she talked earnestly to Bill's wife, out of the corner of her eye, Catherine saw Jack rise from the table. He stood beside her chair and bowed, taking her hand, lifting it to his lips and kissing it briefly. Then he gave her one of those cheeky half-smiles he often knocked her dead with.

"Would a beautiful sophisticate like you do a lowly schmo like me the honor of a dance?" he asked, thinking, 'So, it's a cliche. What the heck?'

Catherine replied with an appropriate inanity. "I assure you the honor is entirely mine."

A feeling of nervous expectation rose up from the pit of her stomach as Jack led her onto the dance floor. This would be their first dance together. The idea of dancing with him had excited her from the first moment she'd thought about asking him to come, and she was thrilled by Jack's manner of asking - charmingly quaint and sweet. He was such a big kid and she loved that about him.

As it turned out, Jack was not a bad dancer and Catherine relished the feel of his arms around her, and his cheek brushing against hers, as he led her around the floor. She was giddy with the thrill of the moment and figured they must look fine together, wishing she could watch as well as participate.

At first, they didn't talk much. For Catherine, Jack's breath whispering in her ear was enough, but he broke their silence.

"Henry Hayes is right. You really are beautiful," he whispered. "Belle of the ball and all that."

Catherine felt herself blush pink, but passed off his unexpected compliment with a joke. "You can't really disagree with your Commander-in-Chief, now, can you?"

He moved his cheek away from hers to gaze into her eyes. "I mean it Catherine," he said seriously.

"I know you do. You're looking pretty damned good yourself, flyboy."

Jack grinned. "Glad you think so." He twirled her gracefully and she hitched a thrilled breath.

"Must be all those medals, Mr. Hero," she added with a wink.

"Ack! They're just medals."

"The President doesn't seem to think so."

"He's a politician. They tend to be prone to exaggeration."

"Don't you enjoy compliments, Jack?" She hadn't been blind to his discomfort when flattered.

"Doesn't everyone enjoy compliments? I just… I don't always see myself the way others see me. It just feels odd. I'm not a hero, Catherine, only doing my job."

"None of us see ourselves like others see us. I can't speak for whether you're a hero or not, but I'll tell you this for nothing; you are a gorgeous, sexy man."

If Jack was a blushing kind of man, his face would have reddened. "Aw, shucks!"

"And you're also totally impossible."

"That sounds more like me." His smile was the epitome of shy modesty.

They hung silent again for a while until Catherine leaned to whisper in his ear. "Wait till I get you back to the hotel, my gorgeous, sexy flyboy."

Jack arched an eyebrow and smirked. "Got plans, have you?"

"You bet."

"Promise?"

"Count on it."

"In that case, I think we should duck out early." He smiled cheekily and winked.

"Mmmm… perhaps. But how often will I get the chance to dance with my very own personal hero?"

Jack chuckled. "Enjoying it?"

"Every moment."

A couple of dances later, they returned to their table to rest and Jack excused himself to go to the can. When he came back, Catherine was gone.

"She's dancing," Bill said by way of explanation. Jack nodded and scanned the dance floor, spotting her quickly. The man she was dancing with was her ex. Crap! He watched for a short time, concluding she didn't look happy and that Rodgers was holding her way too tightly. He wondered whether the man was drunk. It sure would vindicate Catherine if he showed his true colors in public, but Jack wasn't prepared to give him that chance. No way was he letting the man hurt Catherine.

Seconds later, he approached the pair. "Mind if I cut in?" he asked Rodgers.

"Yes, I do," he replied tartly.

"Tough shit."

Catherine never did work out how Jack managed to pry Pete away without making a scene, or appearing to muscle in on him, but he did. She was grateful for his intervention.

"You okay?" Jack asked as they danced.

"He was hurting me." Too well bred to have made a public fuss, she was obviously upset.

"What did he do, Catherine?"

"Pulled me to the dance floor too tight, held me too tight. My wrist hurts. He was being poisonously obnoxious. I think he's had too much to drink."

Jack regarded the wrist and the reddened mark where Rodgers had grasped and held it too tightly. He cursed, angry with himself for leaving her alone, but a man has to pee, doesn't he? Damn Pete Rodgers to hell!

"Strikes me he doesn't need a drink to be obnoxious." He gently lifted her arm and kissed the wrist. "Not sure kissing it better really helps, but it's worth a shot." Catherine grinned, but he could see she was still a little rattled. "Want to sit down?"

"Yes please."

Guiding her back to their table, he could feel Rodger's eyes glaring at him hatefully. As he glared back, the man dropped his gaze, and Jack turned his full attention to Catherine. A couple of minutes later, he saw Rodgers move in the direction of the gents, perhaps an opportunity not to be missed. Jack decided to check it out.

"Be back in a minute," he told Catherine, who looked at him curiously. "Must be drinking too much," he added lightly as if an explanation was required.

O'Neill saw Rodgers enter the bathroom, gratified he was right that this was where he was going, and swiftly followed. The bastard had hurt Catherine and he couldn't just ignore that. Entering cautiously, wary of a trap, Jack realized it was empty, except for one of the stalls. So he bided his time, hoping no one else would come in and spoil his fun.

When Rodgers came out, zipping his fly, he was surprised to see O'Neill. However, his surprise didn't have time to register as Jack struck like lightening. One arm across his throat, while the other pinned him to the wall, Jack glared at Rodgers threateningly.

"Keep away from Catherine."

"She's my wife. I'm entitled," the man squeaked.

"Okay, I'm only saying this once, so listen up," Jack said, tightening his grip. The expression on his face was a study of thunderous pure menace. "You don't want me as an enemy. I can maim and kill in more ways than the fevered imagination of your worst nightmare, and never leave a trace that it was me. No one would ever know.

"If I hear you've even looked at Catherine the wrong way, I will hurt you so bad you won't be spitting teeth, you'll be shitting them. If you harm her in any way, you'll be in hospital for a month and singing soprano." He loosed his arm from around Rodger's throat, grasping his testicles and squeezing them hard. Rodgers squealed. "Is that clear?"

Not having picked up on the danger earlier that evening, Rodgers realized this man was totally terrifying. He could barely open his mouth to speak.

O'Neill squeezed his testicles again, even harder this time, and the man screeched. "I asked you a question. Is that clear?"

"Crystal," Rodgers replied with a croak.

When O'Neill let him go, Rodgers swung for him defiantly, but his adversary was too quick. Ducking the move, Jack punched him forcefully in the solar plexus, leaving him gasping and eyes watering.

"Seems you weren't really listening. You listening now, Rodgers?"

"I heard you. Loud and clear."

"Good, because I don't like wife-beaters. Men who bully and beat women are nothing but cowards, and their stench sickens me. I don't want to get this close to you again if I can avoid it. Avoiding it is entirely in your hands."

With that, O'Neill turned and exited the bathroom, returning to Catherine's side looking unruffled, not a hair out of place, as if nothing had ever happened. Beneath the surface, he was an angry and bubbling volcano, but most people would never have guessed. He was contemplating getting a background check run on Rodgers to see what nastiness he could dig up when Catherine surprised him.

"What's wrong Jack?" she asked.

It shocked O'Neill that he failed to pull the wool over her eyes. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. Maybe it was a good thing she could see through him, maybe not, but there was something vaguely encouraging about it. Her uncanny observance had interesting ramifications for their relationship that he'd have to think about - maybe.

"Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"Not much, no. You look calm on the surface but I can sense something's happened. What?" She looked so concerned for him that he couldn't bring himself to evade her question completely.

"I just bumped into your ex in the john, that's all," he said, trying to make it sound innocent.

"Oh? He didn't try to hurt you did he?" Her eyes widened with increased anxiety.

Jack chuckled derisively. "You're kidding, right?"

"Did you hurt him?" Her apprehension was clear.

"You really don't want to know."

"I don't want you getting into any trouble because of me, Jack," she said, grasping his arm.

"I won't, although it might be worth it just to beat the crap out of the fuck." Anger briefly flickered across his features.

"Oh, Jack, what happened?"

He studied her face, realizing she needed reassurance. "I warned him off, that's all." Kissing her nose, he regarded her earnestly. "Catherine, if he bothers you, I want to know about it, okay? Don't keep it to yourself."

She smiled thinly. "I'm used to dealing with it myself."

Taking her hand and squeezing it, he looked at her with a fondness that made her heart skip a beat. "You don't have to deal with it alone anymore. I'll be there for you; that's a promise."

Catherine's smile broadened into a beam and her heart soared with emotion. In the back of her mind it worried her that she had grown so attached and involved with this man. She had never meant for that to happen, intending the relationship to be casual, but unsought feelings had snuck up on her with stealth and cunning, and continued to do so with increasing rapidity.

After Pete, and her parents, trust and love had become things she'd locked away, vowing never to make use of either, but Jack had opened her up to both again. This bothered the closely guarded part of her, but her heart told her to run with it and let it be what it would be because it was wondrous.

She knew with absolute certainty that Jack would never treat her with the contempt her husband subjected her to. He had many faults, didn't everyone, but he was fundamentally a good and honorable man. It was born and bred into him - he was a natural.

He had probably done some nasty, possibly unthinkable, things in his life. That was his job and she had no doubt he excelled at it, just as she anticipated he would excel at anything he set his mind to. Sometimes he could be slightly anally retentive, and he was a private person who found it hard to let people in and share of himself. Often he struggled to find the right words and wasn't too forthcoming with his emotions. He'd suffered a lot in his life that much was clear, and this was bound to have an impact.

Inevitably, there were negatives but she knew he was capable of so much, could give so much. He had a heart of solid gold, sometimes too well hidden by the gruff exterior, but Catherine knew it was there because she'd borne witness. She figured he'd got used to hiding it, from himself and from others, and she was a lucky woman because he revealed it to her sometimes.

A declaration of love lingered on her lips, but remained unspoken. It would have been too easy to say it, and she wasn't yet certain. That was a lot for her to give, just as she knew it would be a lot for him too.

She snuggled up to him, feeling the warmth of his words of assurance. "Thank you," she whispered; simple, but honest and heartfelt words.

Jack countered with one of his charmingly adorable and captivating smiles. "Wanna dance?" he asked.

"With you? Always," she responded, allowing him to take her hand and lead her into some moments of almost complete happiness.

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Now he considered it more closely, his appearance in the newspaper perturbed Jack less than it had a few moments before. The weekend in New York, and that evening at the fundraiser, was worth every word of the inevitable gossip and speculation circulating around the SGC.

A picture of him and Catherine was enough to cause rumors in itself, but the photo that adorned the newspaper page showed the couple in animated conversation with the President, not posed but candid. The caption underneath read: "Enigmatic bohemian heiress and artist, Catherine Fellowes, jokes with the President and her escort, General Jonathan O'Neill of the United States Air Force."

'Enigmatic is right!" muttered Jack to himself, reading the article again.

This referred to people that didn't interest Jack in the least, but what did interest him were the references to him and Catherine. They seemed to merit way more column inches than Jack thought they deserved.

"Catherine Fellowes, once considered amongst the cream of socialites, inexplicably dropped out of the high life after leaving her husband, the wealthy and urbane Peter Rodgers," it said. Jack sneered at the urbane reference. Yeah, right!

"The Fellowes and Rodgers families have been friends for years, so a match made in heaven, one would have thought. The break up remains a mystery. Her parents, the incomparable Gloria and Martin Fellowes, also attended the event, along with her estranged husband." Incomparable was one way of describing her parents, he thought.

"The glamorous ex-couple once appeared frequently in these pages, a regular fixture of many high society events. She now lives a quiet, almost reclusive, bohemian existence in Colorado Springs, but turned up at the fundraiser seemingly as enchanting as ever, with a surprising escort on her arm.

"Eagle-eyed readers might recall the highly decorated hero, General Jonathan O'Neill of the United States Air Force, as the Colonel O'Neill linked to the failed assassination attempt on Senator Robert Kinsey a couple of years ago. Instead of being the culprit, as originally assumed, he was an integral part of the Senator's plan to foil a corruption conspiracy. One of the good guys and a hero indeed.

"Making a very handsome couple, they talked and joked with the President as if he was an old friend, leading fellow guests to speculate on the relationship between the three. Once again, Ms Fellowes is in the news as an enigma waiting to be resolved.

"Also known as an artist, some of her artworks were amongst the many being sold as part of the fundraising events of the weekend."

The SGC scuttlebutt was so going to make a lot of this, most of it probably way off beam. What the heck! There's nothing wrong with the old man being in the company of a beautiful, mysterious, wealthy, bohemian heiress, right? And the presence of the President would surely serve to stoke the fire, in the best possible way, right?

Forcing himself out of his revelry, he recalled a pressing need to speak to Walter Harriman.

"Walter!" he called and the sergeant was standing in front of him in seconds flat.

"Yes, sir."

"At ease, airman. Why don't you take a load off and sit down?"

Walter shifted uncomfortably, taken aback by O'Neill's suggestion. A sudden fear crept into the pit of his stomach. The general had never asked him to do that before. "Sir?" he queried with a gulp.

"I said sit down, Walter," Jack said in a more commanding voice.

"Yes, sir." Walter sat, looking somewhat uncomfortable and fidgety, perched on the edge of the chair as if it would swallow him up if he sank into it.

O'Neill eyed the enlisted man wordlessly, a silence that made Harriman squirm even more. The silence continued for what seemed an age in Walter's mind. His eyes shifted to the newspaper on O'Neill's desk, open at the society pages. He wondered if O'Neill was pissed at him for leaving it there.

He thought he was doing the boss a favor, a warning of what he might have to look forward to, but he'd noticed O'Neill had been out of sorts when he came in that morning so had kept his mouth well and truly shut. Otherwise, he might have said something.

On the other hand, maybe he'd learn something from this little head to head. The whole base was talking about O'Neill's appearance in the paper, the mystery woman, the President. They were intrigued, and the rumor mill was rife with speculation. If he learned something the others didn't know about, he could dine out on it for a week.

The thought cheered him, and then he remembered they were talking O'Neill here. This was the man who kept his private life so close to his chest that he required special trinium pockets. The notion almost made Walter titter, but he didn't dare twitch his face.

"Did you leave this on my desk, Walter?" O'Neill asked, pointing to the paper. The sudden breach of the silence made Harriman jump slightly and Jack suppressed a small grin.

"Um…y-yes, sir." Walter stammered, wondering what was coming next.

"Thanks for the heads up," O'Neill replied, causing Walter's eyebrows to shoot ceiling wards with surprise. The long silence and O'Neill's flinty expression had led him to expect a somewhat different reaction.

"Y-you're welcome, sir," he managed to say, wondering if he dared ask a question about the general's weekend.

"Good to know you've got my back, Walter." Aware he'd surprised the sergeant, Harriman's reaction amused Jack.

"Always, sir."

O'Neill said nothing for a while, holding his hands in front of him on the desk and pressing his thumbs together, apart, and together again to keep them occupied. "So what are they saying about it?" he asked, surprising his subordinate once more.

"Um, sir?"

"What's the scuttlebutt, Walter?" The question so bowled Harriman over that he was finding it difficult to know how to react. "You of all people will know, won't you? I figure you know just about everything that goes on in the mountain." O'Neill viewed him with an eyebrow arched in curiosity. "Come on, man, I won't bite your head off."

Walter was thinking O'Neill could happily eat someone's head for breakfast and not turn a hair, and wondered what he should say. He took a deep breath.

"I think the prevailing mood is curiosity and intrigue tinged with envy, sir," he said eventually, choosing his words carefully.

"Envy?"

"With all due respect, sir, she's a very beautiful, young woman," he ventured daringly. "And it sounds like it was something of an event, sir."

"She most certainly is," O'Neill agreed with a twitch of a smile. "And it most certainly was."

"D-did you have a good time, general?" Walter asked even more daringly.

"I most certainly did." His smile broadened, then he paused in thought before replying, considering what information he might want Walter to convey to the other gossip mongers around the base. "Are they saying she's too young for an old guy like me? Because she isn't, you know. Way older than she looks."

Surprised by those words, the embarrassed Walter stammered a response, uncertain how to respond to his commanding officer. "I-I-I think some people might be saying that, sir. Y-you aren't old, g-general."

Walter was beginning to believe this chat was way too informal and personal for a CO and one of his enlisted men, wishing he was almost anywhere but right there in the general's office.

"Well, maybe I should be flattered, Walter."

"Yes, sir. Um…"

"Should I be flattered?" O'Neill pressed, his amusement at the situation growing in intensity. Maybe today wasn't so terrible after all, given the bad start and all.

The sergeant squirmed uneasily in his chair before replying. "I think so, general." O'Neill nodded an acknowledgement and Walter noted the far away expression that drifted briefly into his CO's eyes, thinking he should soak up every moment for a better retelling of the tale later. "The President, sir…" Walter risked courageously, tailing off on losing his nerve.

Aware of the slightly awed expression in Harriman's voice and features, Jack wondered how many of those impressed type thoughts and words were circulating around the SGC. He found himself feeling elated by the notion of gossip that might enhance his reputation, but waved a hand dismissively as if it were a trifle.

"Awww, me and Henry Hayes go way back."

That should add some grist to the rumor mill, he thought with an inward smirk, feeling smug and wondering what else he might want Walter to spread around. Remaining inscrutable might be the best policy. Inscrutable works every time.

"So, I'm guessing you have a job to do sergeant. Me too," said O'Neill, eyeing the pile of paperwork ruefully.

"Yes, sir." Walter rose from his chair, assuming from the General's words he was being dismissed.

"Keep up the good work… and keep me posted."

"Yes, sir."

"You're doing a darned fine job, sergeant," Jack added and he could almost see Walter's chest swell with pride. "I appreciate it. I know I don't often say so, but I do."

"Sir," he replied gratefully, a beam on his face.

"And, Walter, call the paper to see if you can get an original print of this photo, will you?"

"Yes sir!" Walter determined he would do way more than that, betting there were plenty more where that one came from. He'd give O'Neill a whole host of photos to choose from, he could have them all if he wanted. Dine out on it for a week? A month, more like. He returned to work with a hugely self-satisfied smile on his face and procuring the photos became his top priority.

Jack smiled at Harriman's retreating back, sighing wistfully. Once again, he eyed the photograph, thinking how good it would look framed and in a suitable location in his house. Or maybe he should place it in his office and keep the tongues wagging. That might be a bit of fun.

His mind turned to the painting he'd bought at the charity exhibition. He so had to find a good place to hang that up at home. Somewhere he could admire it to its best advantage. Eyes flickering over to the pile of paperwork, he realized his concentration was shot to pieces. He couldn't keep from straying to thoughts about the weekend.

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Jack was aware of curious eyes watching as he and Catherine danced. If he looked, he couldn't see them watching but he knew they were. It was a gut instinct, O'Neill thing. He wasn't sure how he felt about being the centre of attention, but knew it made him feel good in some perverse way. He was proud to be there with Catherine, proud to lead her around the dance floor, proud that such a beautiful woman had chosen him to escort her. His heart positively puffed up with pride.

He was just thinking about pride coming before the fall when Catherine whispered she'd like to sit down and have a drink. He nodded agreement, his hand automatically resting in the small of her back to steer her to their table. All the other occupants were off somewhere else doing their own thing and he left her alone to go to the bar next door.

The reception room was filled with small groups of people chatting merrily and he circumnavigated them to reach the bar area, acknowledging Bill when he spied him from the corner of his eye. He really liked Bill and his wife and was even considering exchanging contact details and trying to organize some kind of get together. He knew Bill would willingly travel to Colorado, particularly if he got the opportunity to look around Catherine's studio. Jack filed that under a subject to discuss with Catherine, because such an invitation was not his to give.

A few people were hanging around the bar and getting served took longer then he anticipated. As Jack entered the ballroom, he was surprised to see Catherine in apparently deep conversation with her mother at their table. Initially, he felt diffident about approaching, but swallowed his unease to brazen it out.

When Gloria Fellowes greeted him with a friendly smile, he chuckled inwardly. Another hypocrite impressed because he appeared to be friendly with the President. He certainly seemed to have gone up in her estimation.

"Ma'am," he said with a smile in acknowledgment of her presence as he sat, placing Catherine's drink in front of her and trying to fade into the background. He didn't want to interrupt their conversation and wondered what they'd been talking about.

"Think about it, Catherine," her mother said, rising from her chair.

"I will mother, but have to admit I'm slightly surprised."

"We can't go on like this. You are my daughter."

Catherine merely looked at her as if thinking it was about time she realized that fact, and Mrs. Fellowes had the good grace to look discomforted. She turned her attention towards Jack, a charming smile on her face that reminded him of his lover. He guessed she must have been as beautiful as her daughter when younger, and she was still a handsome woman.

"It was good to meet you, young man," she said, holding her hand out to shake his.

Jack stood, shook her hand and bowed his head slightly. "Ma'am." No way was he going to say something trite in response, such as likewise. It was totally inappropriate, given her reaction earlier in the evening. It so hadn't been good to meet her; not on any level.

When she left, Catherine turned to him with a faint smile, noting his quizzical eyebrow.

"You okay?" he asked, still uncertain of what had just happened and how it impacted Catherine's mood and feelings.

"That was weird."

When she said nothing further, Jack took her hand and kissed it briefly. "It's okay of you don't want to tell me about it. Neither of us is great at that private stuff. But if you want to, I'm listening."

She leaned into him, brushing her cheek against his. "It's getting so I quite like talking about 'that private stuff' with you, Jack. It's kind of growing on me."

"That bothers you, huh?" he asked, sensing her disquiet.

Her expression was sheepish and she nervously worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "Yes, no, I don't know," she admitted, indecisively.

Jack smiled lightly, rubbing his thumb gently over her bare shoulder and making her flesh goosebump with a frisson of delight. "I so know that feeling."

She beamed and placed a hand over his where it brushed over her shoulder. "I think I'd like to go back to the hotel. Do you mind?"

"This is your party, I'm just the escort," he said with a grin. "Of course I don't mind."

"I suppose I ought to say goodbye to some people first."

"Me too." Jack was thinking about Bill in particular. He'd get his number. It wasn't the right moment to discuss a visit to Colorado with Catherine.

They made their way to the exit, detouring for the goodbyes both of them wished to make, and on their way past her family, Catherine gave them a stiff nod but said nothing. Jack wondered if she would ever tell him about the conversation with her mother, and noted the resentful glare from her ex. Although Jack knew what kind of an enemy he could be for Rodgers, he wasn't sure what kind of an enemy the man could be for him and he pondered if he'd live to regret those moments in the bathroom, vowing to look into his background.

Eventually, he managed to steer her into the fresh night air and felt a weight lift when he realized the event he had been dreading was over. In the end, it hadn't been too bad and would always hold some very good memories to draw on: dancing with Catherine for the first time; meeting Bill as well as some of Catherine's more pleasant friends; the great food; the terrified look in Rodgers' eyes when he squeezed his balls. Jack chastised himself for that last thought, although had to admit it had been a pleasure.

Most of all, he cherished every morsel he had gleaned about Catherine over the course of the day and evening. The knowledge made him admire her more than ever. As they sat in the cab, he pondered that she was as diffident as he was about the various twists and turns of their relationship and how close they were growing. The notion made him feel better about his own nagging doubts.

The feel of her hand on his crotch abruptly interrupted his train of thought and he grunted.

"Watchya doing?" he whispered rhetorically.

"What do you think flyboy?"

"Is this something to do with those plans you mentioned earlier?" he retorted with a waggle of his eyebrows.

"You betchya!"

"Oh, man!" He could feel his body responding quickly to her touch, and the whole notion of lovemaking when they got to their room. "Making sure I'm ready?" He gave her a mischievous O'Neill grin and Catherine caressed his crotch harder, a seductive smirk on her face.

"That's the easy part it seems," she commented and he chuckled from deep in his throat.

"Mmmmmm…" was his only reply.

On reaching the hotel, they hastened to their room, and before he had a chance to make a move, Catherine was on him, hands grasping his face and pulling his lips to hers.

"I've been thinking about this on and off all night," she said breathily. "Dripping with medals, flyboy." She ran her fingers over the strips of ribbons on his chest. "That really turns me on. You are so darned hot in this uniform."

"You're pretty hot yourself, ma'am," he responded, hands smoothing over her curves. He'd love to have ripped her dress off to get her naked as soon as possible, but was sure it was expensive, designer wear, so refrained.

She didn't appear to have the same qualms about his uniform, hungrily tugging the shoulders of his jacket and pulling it down his arms with alacrity. Luckily, it held without ripping but his shirt didn't fair so well, buttons popping as she tore at it to expose his chest. Burying her head against his chest hair, she nuzzled, and then bit, nibbling all over before taking a nipple between her lips and sucking hard.

Jack groaned, reaching to unzip her dress, which fell to the floor along with his jacket. Neither of them paid any heed to the increasing heap of clothing. She was speedily undoing his pants, which swiftly joined the pile, and Jack was too busy enjoying her obvious need for his body, his desire growing exponentially along with hers.

"Want to take a shower, General O'Neill?" she asked and he grinned with delight, knowing exactly what she was suggesting. Oh, man!

His hunger-filled dark gaze was an answer and, rapidly, they removed the rest of their clothes. Grasping his hand, Catherine gently pulled him towards the bathroom with it enfolded in her hers.

Turning on the hot water, she pulled him towards her, clutching his ass and gyrating against him while they awaited its heated steam. By the time they entered the stall, Jack was more than a little ready for some sexual fun and games.

They probably could have got right down to it, but once the pair moved into the hot stream of water, they slowed down, both thinking they should indulge in some foreplay.

Jack turned Catherine so she faced the shower while he stood behind her, and squeezed some shower gel into his hands. His lathered hands smoothed over her belly, one winding up to her breasts while the other headed downwards to her more intimate and sensitive regions. His head bent to kiss and bite her neck, and she sighed longingly.

She reached up and grabbed his head from behind, pressing herself closer and swaying against him, rubbing her back against him. In response, he bit her neck hard, quashing his moan. When he raised his head, pushing against her grasping hands, she could feel the heat of his breath panting in her ear.

Last time they had done this, the foreplay had been long: lathering each other's bodies, washing each other's hair. It had been highly erotic. This time, however, Catherine's yearning held hints of desperation, and she could sense from his quickened breath that Jack felt similarly.

The hot torrent of water powered over and between them, cascading across Jack's shoulders and down his naked back and ass, tumbling over Catherine's breasts and his chest, trickling down to those intimate places that were increasingly entwining together - urging them on.

When she saw his face, it was heated red with carnality, and wonton longing darkened his eyes. Catherine thought she must bear a similarly frantic expression. Foreplay forgotten and unneeded, their joining started at a feverish pace.

Their lovemaking grew increasingly frenetic with growing base need and rapturous delight. The water's surge seemingly matched their tempo, or maybe they matched it but, whichever, its pulsing beat on their skin enhanced their synchronicity. Their pace increasingly quickened, harder and faster towards the inevitable conclusion. Over swiftly, nonetheless, it was joyously satisfying for both of them.

Jack collapsed against her, his head sinking into her neck, and he showered that delicate pale flesh with kisses, whispering in her ear, his breath still ragged and hoarse.

"Good, so good, so good."

Grasping his hair, she pulled back his head and met his eyes, a sated look on her face. Eyes loitering on his equally fulfilled expression for a while, her lips then enclosed his and she tongued his mouth aggressively before withdrawing.

"Yes, very good," she agreed with a smile.

"Too quick, you think?"

"No, we both wanted it quick, didn't we?"

He nodded and grinned, happy to have pleased her while also pleasing him.

"Wash? Bed? What?" he queried, taking her hand in his and kissing it briefly, the satisfied grin remaining on his lips.

She didn't answer at first, rinsing the sticky secretions of their lovemaking away in silence. Then she turned off the shower. "Bed, I think, don't you? It's been quite a day, and night." Her lips quirked into a smirk.

"That it has," he agreed amiably, happy at the idea of getting into bed with her and pulling her into his arms for sleep.

"Come," she urged, taking his hand and leading him out of the shower stall. Reaching for a towel, she rubbed his hair with it before drying him off, pecking his skin with small kisses as she did. He let her take control without demur, enjoying her attentions and watching languidly as she dried herself after him. His eyes roamed over her body as he observed, thirstily drinking in every curve and movement with joy borne from contentment and admiration.

When finished, she took his hand again, gently pulling him into the bedroom, leading him over to the bed and urging him under the covers before crawling in beside him.

They snuggled up together quietly, Catherine's head burrowing into his neck while his chin rested on her hair and their arms cozily snaked around each other. Jack could feel himself drifting into a satisfied doze.

"Mom wants a truce," Catherine said unexpectedly, waking Jack from his partial slumber. Although he craved sleep, there was no way he'd reject his lover's desire to discuss the subject.

Shifting from his cozy position, he kissed the top of her head and then wriggled down the bed to face her, without disturbing the mutually comforting embrace.

"That's what you were talking about?" he queried.

"Yes." She met his gaze, encouraged by the warmth and affection she saw. "She tried to hand me an olive branch."

"How do you feel about it?" he asked when she didn't elucidate.

"I don't know. They're my parents, Jack. I miss them."

Although he was thinking her parents were a couple of jerks who didn't deserve a daughter like Catherine, he didn't voice this opinion. "Then take the olive branch."

"But they've hurt me so badly."

He saw tears starting to well up in her eyes, and stroked her back soothingly, moved by her confusion and pain.

"I know. Forgiveness is hard, but it's not impossible to try, is it?" Fine for an unforgiving, obstinate bastard like him to be giving such advice, he thought sardonically.

"Maybe it's too late," she said uncertainly.

"You'll never know if you don't try."

He wasn't sure whether to encourage the ceasefire or not, hesitant about its potential impact on both Catherine and their relationship, but understood discouragement was the wrong thing and he had to do the right thing. That was deeply embedded in Jack O'Neill's nature and he could do nothing less, even if it might not be in his personal best interests.

"I miss what we had years ago, but we can never get that back." Her tone was wistful, tinged with memories.

He regarded her thoughtfully. "Maybe you can't, but maybe you can retrieve something. You have to follow your heart. That's the best any of us can do."

"I think my heart is confused. She says she saw something in Pete tonight that gave her pause and realized maybe there was some truth in what I told them about him after all. She says they're willing to listen."

"Then that's a good thing, isn't it?"

"I'm not sure I trust her anymore. It might be a ploy. She wants me to go stay for a weekend. What if she invites Pete?"

The very idea made Jack's blood boil. Could they be that guileful, unfeeling and tactless? From the little he'd observed of them tonight, and what Catherine had told him about her past, he figured the answer to that could be a resounding yes.

Catherine seemed to be keeping her emotions in check but Jack could see the pain, confusion and sorrow in her eyes. He wished he could wipe that pain away but knew he was powerless to do so. All he could do was be there for her and help in any way he could. He hoped that was enough.

"Tell them you won't go if he's there."

"They could lie."

"Yes, they could. I guess you'd know where you stood if that happened. You could walk out again and come straight back to the Springs." He couldn't let her face this alone so offered something that made his heart sink at the thought. He so hadn't liked what he'd seen of her parents. "Or I could come with… if you want me to."

She smiled and gave him an affectionate peck on the lips. "That's so sweet of you, Jack. They were unkind to you. I know you didn't like them. The idea of spending more time with them… a whole weekend… that must be hard for you to stomach."

"Sure, a little. But I would never let you do it alone if you didn't want to. You know that, don't you? I'll be there for you, Catherine, I promise."

'Maybe forever if that's what you want,' he thought. The idea came to him unbidden and unsettled him. Although Jack knew he needed to think it through, now was not the moment.

"Oh, Jack, what did I do to deserve you?" She nuzzled into his neck and he gave her a squeeze, recalling how often he'd thought the same thing about her.

"You deserve way better, but you got me," he said sardonically.

"You are almost totally adorable, Jack O'Neill," she attested with a smile, kissing his neck.

"Only almost?" he joked, trying to run with the light-hearted mood she was aiming for. Giggling appreciatively, she lifted her head to capture his lips, suddenly wanting them to make love, again. Jack caught on quickly to her desire.

"Oh, man, I'm getting too old for this," he mumbled.

"No way," she declared with a smile. "Sex on legs, that's you, flyboy."

Jack laughed outright at the idea. "If only."

"There's just something very special about essence of O'Neill," she started to say, and he quirked an eyebrow with self-mocking enquiry. "If I could define it, bottle it and sell it, I'd make a fortune."

"Ah! Well that's an old and very secret family recipe," he kidded, secretly flattered, and she giggled again.

Squeezing her gently, he leaned close for a kiss, realizing his desire was catching up with hers, and they spoke no more that night, the sweet sounds of lovemaking filling the air to replace the previously spoken word.

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Reaching for the top file in his pile of papers, O'Neill made a deliberate attempt to suppress his recollections of that night with Catherine in New York. Reminiscences about their lovemaking were making him feel horny and restless. He started to read SG-10's latest mission report but could summon no enthusiasm for the task, unable to concentrate. His neck and shoulders felt stiff and his head throbbed faintly from the tension.

Crap! He so wasn't getting much work done today.

Reluctantly, Jack allowed his mind to drift back onto the tricky subject of Catherine; vaguely hoping the tension might abate if he stopped stifling those thoughts. He'd got way too deeply involved way too quickly, and it bothered him. Remembering his unsolicited and unsettling thoughts that night about being there for her forever, he let the notion run loose in his brain, rolling it around and toying with it somewhat carelessly.

Conjuring her face, then bit by bit, her naked body, he wondered if his longing for her bordered on obsession and began to feel a trickle of sympathy for her fixated husband. Jack couldn't believe such a cruelly acted out passion was in any way related to love, but he wasn't certain the love word remotely described his feelings either.

He wanted her so badly in a physical sense that he hadn't truly considered how his heart felt if isolated from that sexual bliss, although the odd disconcerting notion occasionally slipped into his mind unbidden and unexpected.

Catherine was great in bed, the best he'd ever had, and Jack had enough experience to make that comparison valid. She was passionate, adventurous and playful, displaying degrees of skill and willingness that he couldn't recall encountering before.

O'Neill couldn't get enough of her, and if his tired, aging body failed him, she seemed to know enough tricks to perk it up again and get him started. Oh, man, was that an understatement!

He could feel himself becoming aroused at the thought of having her. Damn it, his ruminations were way too distracting and perturbing, but he couldn't stop from thinking about her, and about having sex with her. That had to be obsession, right?

In his mind's eye, he envisaged arriving at her place and seducing her. Full Technicolor, the whole works. Jack could almost feel the power of her thighs encompassing him, the softness of her skin, and the comfort of her embrace. Her hair tickled his face as he devoured her, her hands roamed his naked flesh as they moved synchronously, her sweet breath whispered seductively in his ear, her passionate moans moved him towards ecstasy - almost faultless actions and reactions to his lust and desire.

Damn! O'Neill was really feeling horny now. He had a hard on for Christ's sake, and was fully aware he shouldn't be having such thoughts in his office deep inside a mountain in Colorado. Jack knew he had to do something about this right now; he was choice less. Usually he could control these urges at work, but at this moment, he was losing it.

So not his day. He'd been right about that from the start.

If Catherine had been there, Jack might have been compelled to find an isolated storage room and screw her witless, that was if he could overcome the urge to do it right there on his desk. Get a grip, O'Neill, he told himself, but the reproach was futile.

Stirring from behind his desk, he lied to Walter on the way out, telling him was going to the commissary. Then, rapidly, Jack made his way to his quarters to do the only thing he could do to ease his frustration, short of actually screwing Catherine – make good use of his right hand.

Locking the door behind him, he leaned with his back to it and let out a long relieved breath before moving to the bed. If he was going to do this, it might as well be in comfort, right? O'Neill's pants were soon pooling round his ankles, along with his boxers, and he lay down on the bed, caressing himself with tender care at first, thinking he should savor this moment of R&R. That was a fruitless effort, because Jack was a lost cause – lost in the thrall of his fevered imaginings and way out of his normal self-control zone.

He probably didn't even have to picture Catherine, probably didn't have to think of anything to gratify himself, so great was his need. Nevertheless, he conjured her again and imagined her seduction during his act of self-abasement.

Catherine was teasing him, stripping off her clothes piece by piece in leisurely fashion; her eyes fixed on his and her expression filled with wanton desire for him - him, for pity's sake! What a lucky, undeserving bastard.

Prone on her bed, he waited her pleasure. As her tongue languorously licked her lips, Jack was bewitched, totally captivated by her lustful gaze.

She smiled, her low voice flattering him with words of longing. Hot Jack, sexy Jack, handsome Jack, delicious Jack. Want you, Jack, want you so much. Ready for me, my sweet, gorgeous darling?

Then Catherine stood before him in naked splendor, caressing her pale flesh, deliberately emphasizing her curves as she moved, and rotating her hips hypnotically.

So erotic, so sensual.

"Catherine," he whispered aloud to the empty room as she shook her dark wavy hair and it cascaded over her shoulders, glistening in the light.

Magnificent, enthralling and beautiful. She was there, right there, and she was his.

Jack gasped excitedly, begging her to make love to him. Want, need, desire. Please, Catherine, please. Now!

She sashayed closer to the bed, never once letting her eyes drop away from his and the internal shriek of rapture as he climaxed was a loud silence, while on the inside his brain seemed to erupt, spewing fiery debris.

It was over way too quickly, before his hectic imagination had even allowed her to make love to him, and Jack remained motionless for a number of minutes, regaining control of his breathing and trying to get his head together.

Shit! Shit! Shit! He cursed quietly to himself. Shit!

O'Neill couldn't quite believe he'd allowed himself to sink so low as to do that while he was on duty. He felt ashamed and debased. But the act gave him blessed relief, even if it didn't rid his mind of Catherine.

When they met, he'd been so in need of someone in his life. His loneliness was verging on the desperate, not helped by Carter's engagement to her, seemingly much pleasanter and more deserving Pete. Her loss hurt deep in his gut, despite that he'd tried hard to let go of the long held fantasy. Sam was doing the right thing by getting on with her life and so should he, he told himself.

Catherine had walked into his life at such a perfect moment it had been almost too good to be true; still was now he thought about it. Nothing could be that good, that perfect, with timing so immaculately just right.

O'Neill reached over to a box of tissues at his bedside and picked one out, cleaning up the mess made by his irresistible self-indulgence.

Turning his mind once again to thoughts of love and commitment, he had to admit that he wasn't sure how he felt about Catherine if he took sex out of the equation. Sure, he enjoyed her company. She was amusing and bright, she was talented in ways no other previous love interest had been, she had a rich deep laugh and a sweet-toned voice, she was gentle and kind, loving and affectionate, and she had balls while still being vulnerable.

There had to be a downside, right? One of these days, it would probably come along and smack him right in the face. The only things he could think of offhand were her very different background, her wealth and fame and her family, all of which could turn out to be problems, or not.

Was it all about sex or was there more to it than that? Sex played a large part in their relationship, Jack knew it, but he was also aware that wasn't all of it.

"For crying out loud!" he cried out in frustration, deciding he was probably being too Carter like and over thinking it. Couldn't he just leave it alone and let it be what it was and become what it would become? Apparently not. He couldn't let it be that easy.

He needed a distraction. After a quick wash, he got dressed, checking in the mirror to ensure he looked relatively normal again, and smoothing his unruly hair. Then O'Neill covered his tracks by making his way to the commissary so he was in exactly the place he'd told Walter he'd be. Picking up a coffee and sandwich, he scanned the room, spotting Dave Dixon alone in the corner, reading a paper.

O'Neill was now all too aware of the curious eyes and whispers. Was he being paranoid? Probably not. He could see a few newspapers scattered around the room, and most of the occupants were studiously avoiding looking at them - way too studiously.

He nodded and smiled amiably at his colleagues, as if not in the least aware of what they might be thinking about, and swiftly walked to the corner Dixon occupied, hoping his old pal might be just the distraction he required.

"Mind if I join you, Dave?" he asked.

Dixon looked up from his paper, predictably the society page of the newspaper Jack and Catherine appeared in. He made no effort to pretend he wasn't interested, which Jack kind of liked.

"Hey, Jack, I see you're famous," Dixon said, greeting him with a grin and indicating he should sit down. "Oops, I mean sir."

Jack chuckled. "Takes some getting used to."

"What, being famous or being the boss?" Dixon asked with a twinkle in his eye.

"Both."

O'Neill sat opposite his old friend, knowing he couldn't stay long, but craving the company. He was already way behind with his workload, but it seemed unlikely the mountain would come crashing down on them if it waited a while longer. A few pen pushers in the Pentagon might be a little disgruntled but the interminable wheels of government wouldn't grind to a halt.

"Lucky guy, Jack," Dixon commented, referring to the picture of Catherine. "She's… wow! What the hell does she see in you? If that's what happens to generals, I want promotion now." The colonel's tone was jocular and Jack smiled.

"She doesn't come with the star, although it probably doesn't hurt," he countered. "Besides, Dave, you're crazy about your wife; everyone knows that, despite your constant griping."

"The kids tend to cramp my style, know what I mean?" Dixon responded with a cheeky leer.

"You're nuts about them too."

Jack bit into his sandwich and chewed, screwing his nose up with a discontented look.

"Sure," Dixon agreed, ignoring Jack's obvious distaste for his food, "but don't tell anyone, Jack. I have an image to maintain." The two men exchanged chuckles.

"Secret's safe with me, Dave," said Jack with a wink.

"Isn't she too young for you?" Dixon pointed to the picture of Catherine. Dave was probably one of the very few men on the base who would say something like that direct to Jack's face, let alone get away with it. O'Neill enjoyed their easy manner together and didn't discourage it, although as he was now base commander realized he probably should.

"No, she's not so young. I'm not a cradle snatcher or anything." Jack's tone was relaxed, with no rancor. "Although sometimes I think I'm a bit too old for her." He thought Dave would get his meaning but smirked to make sure.

"Energetic is she?" asked Dixon knowingly.

"A gentleman never tells, you know that."

"Wears you out, huh?"

"Absolutely no comment, buddy; none at all." A change of subject was in order; after all, he'd sat there for a distraction, not to talk about Catherine. O'Neill realized he should have known better on today of all days. The hubbub would die down, but not for a while. "Any other news in the paper worth discussing?" he asked, and Dave Dixon took the hint. One thing you could say about Dixon, he knew when to drop the subject and shut up.

The two men bantered easily for a while before Jack called a halt and returned to his desk, having eaten his sandwich with it barely touching his sides on the way down. That way he couldn't taste it. Sustenance it might be, but tasty it was not. More like thick blotting paper with something indefinable, and not that great, squidged in the middle. Jack didn't really care; all he needed was a bit more energy to keep him going, to top up the carbohydrate and sugar levels that had seriously depleted since eating Daniel's cake.

The first thing he did when he sat at his desk was call Catherine. Jack had to prove the relationship was about more than just sex, or the contrary. He had to see her. As he dialed, O'Neill wasn't sure if he really wanted her to answer or not, lacking the confidence he was ready to face up to his heart.

The nagging thought of obsession, however, wouldn't leave him alone. O'Neill didn't want to turn into another Pete Rodgers. Not that he was anything like that guy, never raised a finger to a woman in his life except when absolutely necessary in battle or on a mission, but still...

When she answered on the fifth ring, he paused before speaking.

"Hello? Hello?" she kept saying, and then cursed into the phone.

"Hi," he answered at last, worried she might hang up in disgust.

"Jack? Is that you?"

"Yeah."

If Catherine could have seen him she would have known immediately he was restless and fretful because he fidgeted, nervously twisting the telephone wire round his finger.

"I was beginning to think it was a crank call," she said, and Jack thought she might have believed him to be Rodgers playing his stinking mind games. He hated that she might have been scared because of his cowardice, even for a second.

"It is. It's me," he replied jokingly and she obliged him by laughing. Her mirth warmed his confused heart and he took a deep breath, his next words decisive. "You free tonight?"

"I, um, yes," she replied, obviously surprised. "You want to come round?"

"If you think you can stand my company."

"Yes, come." Her tone didn't hold any hint of doubt, which was encouraging.

"I might not get there until after midnight. I'm running behind at work. It's been one of those days."

"I see." She seemed more doubtful now but then her tone changed again to light-hearted sultriness. "Naughty flyboy. I bet I know what General Jack wants."

There it was again, the sex thing.

O'Neill contradicted her assumption immediately. "No, that's not it. I just… want to see you." Taking another deep breath, he bravely, perhaps foolhardily, confessed more. "Need to see you. I don't care if you're asleep when I get there. I just…" he tailed off tentatively, imagining waking up beside her. He smiled at the idea. There was no way a day started in Catherine's arms could turn out bad.

She was silent on the other end as if in thought and he wondered what she was thinking. Maybe she believed him too needy. Maybe he'd screwed up at last. He hoped not.

As soon as he'd heard her voice he'd known it was not just about sex. It was way more than that. Jack didn't want to ruin it now. He was willing to go for it, take it as it came, see what happened and not over think the relationship. It would be so like him to mess up now. Perhaps he shouldn't have called today on this crappy day of all days, but he really wanted to see her. The need to be with her twisted his gut, taking firm hold.

"I'd love you to come, Jack, even if it's just to sleep. Just come, okay? Whatever time it is."

His heart skipped a beat and he breathed easy again. This was exactly what he wanted to hear. Maybe it was too good to be true, but as long as it was good, as long as she wanted him, he'd be there.

"Great. See you later." He hung up still smiling, looking forward to it.

The twisted feeling in his gut settled down into a manageable anticipation. After that, he was able to concentrate at last, plowing through his workload like a demon on a mission. O'Neill wanted to catch up quickly, leave the mountain and get to Catherine's as soon as he possibly could.

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After he hung up, Catherine stared at the silent phone for a while in contemplation. Jack had sounded somewhat lost, and she wondered what was going on in that complex head of his.

His eagerness to see her was thrilling. When he'd mentioned how late he would arrive, her first thought was he simply craved sex. The tinge of disappointment she'd felt had surprised her, and she had glossed over it with a joke, delighted by his prompt denial of the notion. Catherine found the idea of just sleeping with Jack O'Neill by her side, if not in his arms, appealing. If his desire wasn't merely about sex, then it had to be something more than that didn't it? The notion both exhilarated and perturbed her.

She enjoyed being with him, loved the feel of his body close to hers, his arms around her, his scent, his breath in her ear. The smile alone was worth any amount of waiting and, as for his laugh… she cherished making him laugh. Jack chuckled and grinned, but outright laughter was rarer, and worth even more waiting.

Catherine had grown very fond of General Jack O'Neill in the weeks since she'd met him. He made her feel safe and warm, her heart flutter and her stomach churn with excitement, her crotch quiver with anticipation. She wanted to spend time with him, as much time as possible. Jack was a very sexy man, and filled with affection under all that gruffness and bluster. She didn't feel alone anymore.

And they had terrific sex; sometimes mind-blowingly terrific. He could be gentle, considerate and sensual; rough, rampant and animalistic. Sometimes he was selfish but not too often, and he always regretted it, making it up to her in the most pleasurable ways. His hands, those long thin and expressive fingers, could do staggering things to her body. He knew what to do and where to do it with uncanny skill. Jack O'Neill was hot with a capital H, O and T, followed by an infinite number of exclamation marks.

Frankly, he was the best lay Catherine had ever had. She yearned for him, was addicted to him, entranced by him. He did things to her sexually that no other man had done, which encouraged her to both respond and initiate in ways she never had. She wanted him with increasing desire; she wanted him a whole heck of a lot. But good sex was not all of it, she knew that. She'd started falling and hadn't landed yet.

The way he moved, his voice, his expressive manner, his good looks, his charming and cheeky smile, his glistening and often communicative dark eyes, his humor, his natural modesty. It all added up to make once heck of an adorable package, and one that was worthy of unwrapping with loving care.

Sure, he wasn't perfect, but who was?

In the bar where they met, she'd taken a big risk by approaching him. He probably thought she did that kind of thing regularly, but she didn't. There was something about him. He seemed worth the effort. While having a couple of drinks for courage, she watched him: talking, smiling, moving. He had something all right, so she had taken her chance. It didn't take her long to discover he had been worth that initial risk.

Since then she'd become increasing entwined in a trap. Although to say she loved him would be too easy, Catherine wasn't sure she did. She wasn't sure of anything. Jack continued to be a risk, but she still considered the risk worth taking.

Pete had torn her heart out, ripping it to shreds and stomping on it with his oversized feet. Catherine didn't want to go through such heartbreak again, thought she was cautious. Jack had pulled down those barriers, and was the first man she'd had a real relationship with since the breakdown of her marriage. She had experimented a bit, for sure, but only with the casual. She hadn't fallen, deliberately keeping herself at arm's length.

Catherine was surprised she'd let anyone get so close, but Jack had wheedled his way in unassumingly and was well and truly under her skin now. They'd moved closer and closer and neither of them was prepared for it, Jack no more than her. She was still fearful he would tear her heart asunder even while she trusted him.

But life is full of risks, and nothing comes of nothing. If you don't live it you might as well be dead.

Smiling, she pondered Jack's dislike of cliches, thrusting her thoughts aside to eye her watch and thinking she would prepare for him coming. Catherine wanted to look and smell as stunning and clean as possible when he arrived. The least she could do was attempt to catch him in the same trap with her, although she suspected that looking and smelling stunning would have little influence on Jack's feelings for her. If he fell, it would be because of what he saw inside, not outside, although beauty helped.

First a long, luxurious, sweet smelling and pampering bath. And she knew she should remember that sometimes less is more. Maybe tonight that would be more appropriate.

Easing out of the armchair, she went to run the bath, scenting it with delicious smelling bubbles and luxuriating in its warm embrace, the room filled with lit candles to heighten the relaxing atmosphere.

Recalling the baths she and Jack had taken together, Catherine sighed. He loved the candles, and said they reminded him of an old and dear friend. She believed the friend he referred to was male but didn't push for more.

A bath with Jack was to die for. She loved lying in his arms with her back sprawled along his lean length. He might kiss or bite her hair, neck and shoulders or give her a neck rub or massage. Inevitably, he would run his hands over her wet nakedness, caressing her breasts, and satisfying her sexual need with some deft fingering. God, she wished he was there right now, but in her fantasy, he could be.

She sunk into the suds and contemplated him for a while, picturing his handsome features and smiling to herself, soaking until the water became slightly chilly. And, while she bathed, Catherine brought herself satisfaction by the efforts of her own hand; just as Jack had done earlier, imagining he was right there with her. It was his surprisingly delicate, and long, fingers that fulfilled her so blissfully.

"I love you Jack!" she cried out as she peaked and, for a while, she silently contemplated the words she had called out without conscious thought, considering the implications, before forcing them away for later deliberation, because it wasn't something she could allow herself to mull over too deeply now.

Pulling herself together, trying to suppress those raging thoughts that threatened her equilibrium, she got out of the bath and studied her reflection in the mirror wondering whether to apply a smidgeon of make-up and what to wear.

Starting to rifle through her wardrobe for something suitable, she was frustrated at first by indecision, smiling when she spotted the perfect thing. Having settled on the look, she got ready and waited. Waiting was an irritation. She didn't know exactly when he would get there, but Catherine thought Jack O'Neill worth every minute of her time.

He arrived just after midnight as anticipated, and she answered the door with a sweet, welcoming smile. He smiled back, happy to see her, and silently appraised the apparition. This time she was real.

Jack very much approved of what he saw. She looked pretty, and natural, like the girl next door one hears so much about but rarely meets - no discernible make-up and wearing only one of the shirts he'd left there by mistake a couple of weeks before. He kept forgetting to take it home and she kept forgetting to remind him. It looked way better on her despite, or maybe because, it was too big. Her long shapely legs didn't hurt, and he liked the freshly scrubbed look she wore. Simple, but sexy.

His appreciative gaze gave Catherine a frisson of pleasure. He liked what he saw, and what he saw was pure Catherine, no additives, no frills. Jack stepped over the threshold and enfolded her in his arms.

"I like it," he said "Remind me never to take that shirt home."

"I couldn't bring myself to wash it. It still smells of you," she replied, nuzzling into his neck, and Jack's heart lurched at the heartfelt comment. Oh, man!

Briefly, he wondered whether she was in seductive mode, hoping she wasn't because all he wanted was sleep. Jack was beat. He just wanted to be with her, it was that simple. He'd been torturing himself about her to no purpose. It wasn't so complicated, after all. What had he been thinking?

With a gentle squeeze and chaste kiss, he let her go and moved further into her apartment, starting to aim for her living room.

"You look tired," she said and he paused and turned back to face her.

"I'm bushed."

"Okay, flyboy, straight to bed."

He smiled faintly and nodded, and they walked in silence to her bedroom where he flopped wearily on the edge of her bed, hanging his head in his hands. She joined him, reaching over to cradle his head.

"Bad day?" she asked.

"I've had worse, but it was a weird day. Unsettling." Briefly, he wondered whether she had seen the newspaper, but didn't raise the subject, too tired to get into that now.

"Get those clothes off and get into bed Jack."

He extricated himself from her embrace and looked at her. "I'm not up to much. Do you mind if we just sleep?"

His slightly haunted expression and sad eyes puzzled her. "I told you I don't. Sex with you is great, Jack, but it isn't everything. Sleep's good; sleep and your arms around me."

Satisfied by that reaction, he started to remove his jacket, pausing to face her again. "Thank you."

"For what?"

He smiled. "Everything. Being here. Not minding. Caring."

She stretched out a hand and lightly brushed his cheek. "You're welcome." Then she got up, crouching to remove his shoes.

"You don't have to do that," he protested, grasping her arm.

She looked up at him with a plea in her eyes. "Let me."

He acquiesced with a quiet sigh and she continued, removing everything but his boxers with a little assistance from him. Then she pulled back the bedclothes and helped him into bed, getting in beside him. Once she turned off the light, Jack spooned up behind her, encompassing her with an arm, and they slept – nothing more than that, because nothing more was required. It was one of the best feelings in the world.

Next morning, when he sauntered into the mountain whistling cheerfully, the water cooler scuttlebutt revved up and went into speculative overdrive again but, frankly, this time Jack couldn't have given a damn.


	7. Jack's Terrible Past & Troubling Future

Title: Jack's Terrible Past and Troubling Future

Content Level: Age 13+

Content Warnings: Language, and sexual situations

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine)

Summary: Jack exposes a painful past, and dreads confronting an old friend

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2007 Su Freund

Author's Note: Many thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for her insightful beta comments and suggested corrections. She always makes me think, which is never a bad thing - I often need that kick up the butt!

**Jack's Terrible Past and Troubling Future**

The press cuttings spread out before him were mind blowing; the sheer number of them, what they covered, what they said. Jack knew he shouldn't take them too seriously, treat them as gospel, but they revealed a life he could barely imagine. Talk about "other side of the tracks".

Jack had never so much as glanced at society and gossip columns, or those fancy, lurid "how the other half lives" magazines. They so weren't his kind of thing. Sara had sometimes got a kick out of such trivia, and he figured if she'd still been around to ask she might have known who Catherine was and a few tidbits about her, the Fellowes family and her ex husband, the dreaded Pete Rodgers. Of course, he would never have asked. Besides, if Sara was still around, Jack probably wouldn't have had reason to ask.

So, he'd done his own research by scouring the internet for references to Fellowes and Rodgers; articles from newspapers, magazines and the other sources a savvy surfer could access. Jack wasn't the IT illiterate some people might think he was. He simply didn't enjoy using a computer that much unless he needed or wanted to, which was actually quite frequently in his work.

No organization in the 21st century can get by without computers. The Air Force was no exception, despite the forms it required completing in triplicate and the assorted, but seemingly necessary, paperwork that congested O'Neill's in tray on a regular basis. For Jack, using a PC could be like just another form of that paperwork, but when it came to finding information that he wanted, O'Neill got a little kick from searching the World Wide Web.

Computers have many uses, and Jack efficiently exploited a variety of them. Sure, he wasn't computer whiz extraordinaire, not like Carter, but he neither needed nor wanted to be. His view was that others could get on with the programming, debugging, hacking and all those other things that required a particular expertise. They were paid to do that kind of thing, while he wasn't, instead utilizing what was expedient. That was sufficient.

While seeking out, plundering and saving so much information, Jack also printed much of it, wryly thinking he'd probably used enough paper to populate a small rain forest and giving himself a mental slap on the wrist for the overindulgence. But he wanted hard copy, information on paper that he could pick up and read at will without having to boot up his laptop to access it.

Okay, so he was a little old fashioned sometimes, so what? Besides, he didn't want to grow square eyed, and too much computer time screwed with one's eyes, right? Right. This was probably nonsense, and O'Neill knew it, but he spent enough of his time with eyes fixed to a small screen without wanting to read reams and reams of detail on one in his off duty hours. That this particular subject was close to his heart was even more reason for having hard copy. That way, he could savor the info where and whenever he wished, whether it be in printed form or the pages he'd carefully saved for reference.

O'Neill drolly thought the day people stopped wanting or needing real paper would be the day the world would fall apart. For one thing, what would happen to all the paper pushers? Half the Pentagon would become unemployed at one stroke, for crying out loud. And if you want to read a book, you read a book, right? Turning the printed page worked for him, just as it had for millions of others for years. Like many readers, he enjoyed the feel of the paper between his fingers, and the scent of the printed page – that was part of the reading experience for Jack.

So, not all this info about Catherine and her family exactly compared to Dickens or Dickinson, and computer print isn't the same thing as book or newsprint, but something inside Jack wanted to savor the experience in a similar way. Part of the pleasure. Hence, the various pieces of paper strewn around him like overlarge confetti.

He figured Daniel would have been proud of his researching capabilities. He would probably laugh his ass off, actually. Once he overcame the initial shock that his old friend knew his way around the internet, that is. But Daniel would probably never know because no way was anyone ever going to know about Jack's new secret hobby. Sheesh, as if he was going to admit to that - either the IT know-how or his interest in Catherine's public past.

O'Neill had a reputation to protect, after all, and one that he'd carefully cultivated. Many years before, he'd discovered that when others underestimated him that could be used to his advantage in many different ways, for good or ill, with friends and foe.

Jack knew there was a file on Catherine still available to him at the SGC if he wanted to read it. His fingers might be itching to peek, but he wouldn't. O'Neill didn't want the dry, stuffy version of Catherine he might read about in such a report, he wanted living, breathing, fascinating Catherine - and it was kind of fun to find out for himself. Besides, he'd promised never to read that report, and Jack was a man of his word. He'd made no such promise about independent research, however, and all this material about the Fellowes family was public knowledge, plastered all over the free press - God love 'em and bless every one of 'em.

Jack snorted derisively at that thought, having learned early on to take most news media with a large pinch of salt. Don't believe everything you read in the paper, see on the news. There's no such thing as objective journalism. Everyone has an angle. Everyone has their own interpretation, and axe to grind. He'd seen quite a lot of crap over the years. Good stuff too, but it was hard to sort the good from the bad unless you knew for yourself; hence the pinch of salt.

Of course, the idea had occurred to Jack because of the newspaper item about him and Catherine at the ball in New York. If there was one article about Catherine, there had to be others, right? The story had alluded to that. So, his new pastime had started: searching out everything about Catherine and her family and past that had appeared in print.

Before that, Jack had deemed himself content to learn about his lover in that ad hoc way lovers do, allowing her to reveal herself as she saw fit, just as she did with him. But human beings are curious, enquiring creatures, and Jack was no different to anyone else. What he already knew made him want to know more and, as he realized there was more to be found in the media, why the heck not take a little look-see?

Admittedly, he felt a tad guilty about it, but didn't really think there was much harm done. To be honest, O'Neill wasn't totally sure how Catherine would feel about his newfound leisure pursuit. He understood, however, that she valued privacy and could be reticent about her past, so wasn't certain he was doing the right thing. What he could find on the net might be public knowledge, but that didn't mean he was right to dig it up.

Jack respected her privacy, and knew she would reveal what she wanted to reveal. Such disclosures had become more frequent as their relationship had progressed, but she still defended that privacy. Of all people, O'Neill understood this desire very well. He wasn't exactly Mr. Forthcoming, after all. But this was why he'd opted to search out the public face, because surely no one could class that as pushing the envelope and prying where Catherine wouldn't want him to pry?

Jack wrestled with this conundrum, although much of the info he'd found so far lacked substance, or appeared to be pure fluff - the kind of detail Catherine might be willing to share if he asked, and probably would share one day even if he didn't. This was why he believed there was nothing harmful about his little sideline.

What Jack called fluff were snippets about events attended, with whom, what folks wore, what their palatial houses looked like, all that. Frivolities, perhaps, but they were an insight. Of course, there was a serious side too. Even the wealthy Fellowes and Rodgers of this world had to make a living, right? The business pages and similar serious news had Fellowes and Rodgers written all over them. So much of it, that what he'd found so far could take a while to sift through, and he hadn't even finished searching yet.

O'Neill figured all of those more serious news items might be way more illuminating about Catherine's family than the fluffy column inches he'd found. His first thoughts, however, were for Catherine herself, so this was what he was going to focus on for now.

The cute picture of her standing between her parents holding their hands caught his attention. Catherine had been a beautiful child. Her raven hair was bunched into two pony tails, and her clothing was vaguely reminiscent of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. The smile, however, was one he was very familiar with.

On the face of this child, that smile made him want to pick her up, swing her around in his arms, give her a peck on the cheek, and buy her an ice-cream. On the face of the present day Catherine, it had a totally different effect; one that could make him shiver and shudder with desire.

Oh yeah, what a sweetheart! Jack smiled and tossed the item to one side, into a pile designated for the very much younger Catherine. This was kind of a sorting phase of the project. Most of the in-depth reading would come later.

Catherine had certainly moved in some interesting circles. Jack hadn't even heard of many of these people, the obscure wealthy that probably ran the United States of America behind the scenes, only famous if you were curious about that kind of thing, which generally he wasn't. On the other hand, there were some folks that even Jack O'Neill had heard of; the glitterati, the movie stars.

Then another item caught his eye and Jack's eyebrows arched in surprise, a low whistle coming from his mouth. Whoa! Catherine had gone to Harvard? Jack supposed that figured, but it was her chosen field of study that shocked him because it wasn't art, as he had supposed, but engineering. Catherine was a freakin' scientist - a PhD for crying out loud! Doctor Catherine Fellowes. That was kind of weird. What a turn up. Quite some surprise.

Laughter echoed around his room, starting deep in his gut, working its way up through his diaphragm into his chest, up to his throat and then leaping full throttle out of his mouth, accompanied by the dimpling of his cheeks in a huge honkin', shit faced grin.

Oh man, this was something he had to find a subtle way of winkling out of her. Subtle wasn't necessarily Jack's natural style. Then again, some might consider that as one of his areas of expertise. There was subtle and subtle. O'Neill was Special Ops trained, after all, and had worked in that area for quite a while. Much subtlety was involved in such work. On the other hand, he had a reputation for what some might consider as a sledgehammer approach.

Jack was flexible; it depended entirely on the situation. He'd find a way to attain his goal, and now one of his goals became delving into this little conundrum. Engineer turned artist. That was an interesting evolution.

He wondered what kind of engineering she'd specialized in and why she'd abandoned that career path. Had she given it all up for that nasty Pete guy? Had she studied art later on or was it a hobby turned career? The discovery raised a number of questions, and had him intrigued.

Jack figured she couldn't be teaching art without formal training, but knew very little about such things. There was one way to find out and that was to ask. But he'd have to be subtle because he didn't want her knowing about his little sideline in research, or not yet. One day he'd tell her his secret - one day when he was more confident of his ground.

Immersed as he was, when Jack looked at his watch he was taken aback to discover how late it was getting. Catherine was due to arrive soon. She was coming over to his place for the very first time and that seemed like something significant, although Jack wasn't sure what, but he wanted to make a good impression.

Gathering up the printouts into their various sorted piles, he quickly placed them in his desk draw, and started checking over the house to make sure it was as neat, clean and tidy as he wanted. Then he sauntered off to get ready for her arrival, grinning idiotically to himself.

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As he ran a towel over damp hair, Jack pondered an issue he simply had to deal with when he got into work the following day: Major Samantha Carter. He wasn't sure exactly what he'd done to piss her off, but knew he'd done something. It was bugging him that he couldn't figure it out.

Carter had been in a snit with him for way too long and O'Neill couldn't allow it to simmer any longer in case it boiled over. He didn't like the idea of tackling it head on, that wasn't necessarily his way, but he was base Commander and had to consider the welfare of the whole base, not just Jack O'Neill and his old team. Her recent mood was so not a good thing for the base as a whole, probably not for SG-1 either, or him either as an individual or commander, come to that.

O'Neill's ex-second in command might shy away from outright insubordination, but recently she'd come closer than he could ever recall experiencing over the years they'd worked together. That was a key concern in itself.

So, what had got her riled up with him? Jack was at a loss to explain. All he knew was that he couldn't let it slide anymore. He was the boss and if he needed to remind her of that fact, then he would; if necessary, in words of one syllable that might turn her grey before her time.

At first, he'd wondered if it was something to do with him and Catherine. Carter's snit had started shortly after publication of the article about the charity shindig, so the link was a possibility. But Jack found that hard to believe. Okay, so there had always been a frisson of something between the two of them, but Carter was the one who'd gotten herself engaged, wasn't she? Damn it all, he'd met Catherine at Carter's engagement party, for crying out loud!

Sam had found what she wanted in life and was living it so, if there ever had been any expectation of something more happening between them, it was her decision to walk away, not his. O'Neill couldn't bring himself to believe she resented that he was doing the same thing.

Sure, there might be some nagging doubt and concern about the situation but, if there was, Carter would never bring it out into the open like this, just like O'Neill wouldn't. They'd both locked that down tight a long time ago, with only the occasional accidental slip, normally in extremis. They were a team and they cared about each other. So what? They should care, shouldn't they? Just not inappropriately, is all. Well, they did their damnedest.

Carter hadn't even turned up at the little team get-together Jack had organized shortly after that weekend in New York. Ostensibly, Daniel had suggested it so they could all meet Catherine and, while Jack had some misgivings about that notion, he realized it probably had to happen sooner or later, so opted for sooner. At the time, the excuse for Carter's absence had seemed reasonable enough, and he hadn't thought much of it. Yes, he'd felt a twinge of anger and resentment, but hadn't taken it personally. Now he wondered if he had been wrong.

As it happened, Catherine couldn't make it either, so it had turned into a guy's night in, and that suited O'Neill just fine. Those kinds of evenings were few and far between these days, so he relished the moment. Catherine's absence was a disappointment for Daniel, as he was overly curious about Jack's love life, as ever.

Jack had promised to make that meeting happen as soon as he could; halfheartedly, for sure, but a promise is a promise. The fact that he hadn't made it happen yet was neither here nor there in the grand scheme of things. He'd been busy. They all had. Alone time with Catherine was more important to him, and pressure of work had kept that kind of quality time to a minimum lately, so Jack was determined to take advantage of what time they had.

Screw Daniel and his curiosity! Right now, his main concern was his friends on SG-1, specifically Carter, and O'Neill didn't relish the potential confrontation. If only he could figure what was wrong, why she glared at him in that discomforting way and snapped at him so disconcertingly, seemingly at the slightest excuse.

Lately, she'd become downright businesslike and officious; overly so - and rude, or bordering on rude. Sure, sometimes Sam allowed her interpersonal skills to slide because work preoccupied her, but this was going too far. The humor and fun had gone out of their relationship and O'Neill didn't like it, especially as it increasingly seemed aimed at him personally rather than just a general, all-round peevishness.

Having discounted any link to his relationship with Catherine because it seemed implausible, Jack had searched his mind for a reason, but come up empty. It was downright irritating. Getting to the bottom of the problem was now number one on his list of priorities, assuming no other crap hit the fan first thing in the morning. Only Murphy's Law could intervene now, and knowing his luck, it would.

O'Neill hoped not because he had to sort this thing soonest, even though he was a little anxious about doing that. This was what base commanders had to do, wasn't it? Sheesh! Yet another in the long list of reasons why being THE MAN could suck. As leader of SG-1, he might have ignored it until something happened to clear the air, which it inevitably would, even if they never discussed the problem.

The simple expedient of being out in the field, working closely together, saving the universe, each other and the like, would have ironed it all out. They couldn't have worked so well together for all those years if that weren't the reality. Shit happened, putting past transgressions into perspective, so they got lost and forgiven during the struggle and aftermath.

Now he was desk bound O'Neill had to find alternative ways of dealing with such situations, and he always did. So, he would this time too, even if a head on confrontation was the only way of solving the situation. Jeez, what a life! When did things get so darned complicated? Right after earning a star, it seemed. Was it worth all the crap? Probably, but no way was Jack going to admit this to anyone, barely acknowledging it to himself.

Thrusting such thoughts away, he ran a comb through his hair and pulled his clothes on, pausing to look in the mirror and sighing. Not entirely satisfied, and speculating that he never would be, Jack guessed what he saw there would have to do; grey hair and increasing lines on his face, not as fit and muscular as he had once been.

The battle against age was a no win one, no matter how hard he tried, and Jack tried, still exercising every day in one way or another, however busy he was or how late he worked.

Gravity sucks. Flesh is weak and vulnerable, inevitably heading south eventually, although the knowledge didn't stop him from trying to halt its progress. O'Neill was a fighter, an intrinsic element of his character that virtually always won. Never give up. There had been times, for good reason, but he was still here, still alive, still fighting; until his last breath, and all that.

Catherine seemed to think he was pretty handsome and hot, so that's what mattered, right? Her continuing habit of making him feel good about himself, of genuinely expressed flattery, was something he prized highly. She'd smile and tell him the lines and grey hair indicated his maturity and experience that each one was earned, hard fought and won, all the time smoothing over said lines and hair in a way that showed she meant every word. Her reaction to his body amply demonstrated her thoughts.

She found him attractive, that much was obvious. If she believed he was a hunk, something she articulated on a regular basis, why worry?

Smiling, he started humming softly to himself, totally oblivious to his action. Glancing at his watch made his sub-conscious smile broaden. Ten minutes and counting. Jack could hardly wait for her to arrive and, when she did, the smile was still there, plastered all over his happily contented face – that was until he opened the front door. Then, the apprehension he'd been trying to suppress hit him full force and he struggled to hide his unease.

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"You found it all right," Jack said unnecessarily as he opened the door to Catherine's knock. Of course, she found it, for crying out loud; she was here on his doorstep, wasn't she? Dead on time too.

For some inexplicable reason, Jack was as nervous as hell and, consequently, edgy. Not for the first time, he realized there was something significant about Catherine coming to his place for the very first time. Why she'd never been there before, he wasn't sure. It was probably because he hadn't invited her, except to meet SG-1 that one time, which hadn't happened in the end. That invitation had probably been symbolic too.

"Aren't you going to let me in, flyboy?" she asked in a tone that made him wonder if she knew he was tense.

"Sure, what am I thinking? Doh!" he responded in a jocular manner, slamming his forehead with the palm of his hand, Homer Simpson style.

A fellow Simpson's fan, Catherine grinned as she entered, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. "Sorry. Not much of a host," he commented as their lips parted.

"You seem pretty damned hospitable to me," she replied with a smirk. "Nice place," she added as she looked around at what she could see from the entrance.

"You'll get the guided tour later," he promised, steering her toward his living room.

"I trust that will include the bedroom, Jack," she said suggestively.

Glancing at her, he grinned. "I think I might be able to accommodate that," he responded, winking.

Of course, when they entered the living room, Catherine didn't sit down, but prowled around looking at everything in sight, peering through the hatch into the kitchen, out the window at his yard, and then staring at photos and Jack's other belongings with intense curiosity.

"Wanna drink?" he asked, hoping to distract her. Not that Jack blamed her for being curious about his home and possessions, that was natural, but the intense scrutiny made him feel even more fidgety.

She turned with a smile on her lips. "I see my painting has pride of place," she commented proudly, referring to the self-portrait he'd bought in New York, which hung where Jack could see it when sitting on his couch.

Amused that he squirmed slightly uncomfortably, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, she walked over and grasped his hand, kissing his cheek.

"It's a fine painting," he said, smothering his anxiety. "I want it where I can see it. In here, everyone else can see it too."

"Show off," she teased. "Like what you see?" Evocatively, she waggled her eyebrows at him.

"Always, Catherine," replied Jack with a grin, pausing to drape an arm over her shoulder and look at her with great affection. Catherine shivered with a spark of longing. "You're a beautiful woman."

"Thanks," she said, a slight flush invading her cheeks.

If Catherine was honest, she was nervous too. Beginning to relax, admittedly, but nervous nonetheless. It comforted her to detect Jack's edginess, which she assumed was for the same reasons. His dinner invitation to his place, that he intended it as a "date" with just the two of them, had thrown her. They had spent more time together in her apartment than anywhere else, not venturing out very often.

They didn't really date as such, and she hadn't even known where Jack lived until her gave her his address a few days before. So this was definitely something new, and exciting, and nerve wracking.

Jack and Catherine weren't all about sex, but it had seemed that way for a long while. She had settled for that, indeed was more than happy with it at first. Catherine hadn't been looking for anything other than a casual fling when she'd decided to pick Jack up in that bar; no commitment, no getting to know each other, and definitely no dating.

Increasingly, however, it seemed she wanted their relationship to evolve naturally into something more than simply making last minute arrangements to spend the night in her bed, or elsewhere in her apartment, getting down and dirty with hot sex.

She loved the sex, no denying that. Jack was good in bed and they seemed synchronous as far as that aspect of the relationship was concerned. Catherine, however, wanted more. Recently, she seemed to be getting that more she craved, but not enough. Would it ever be enough? She wasn't sure, and the notion disturbed her.

In her humble opinion, she was getting way too serious about this man. Once, not so long ago, Catherine would have backed off as soon as she realized that little factoid, but there was no backing off from Jack, which proved that he was different to the other men she'd seen since her marriage broke up - very different.

Either he was atypical or her feelings for him were, probably both. She couldn't bring herself to back off and seemed addicted to the man who was General Jack O'Neill, her desire to grow closer, for their relationship to evolve, apparently increasing exponentially as they got closer and their relationship evolved. That kind of thing seemed to sneak up on a person, catching them off guard, until turning back was no longer an option.

Once, she might have resented that, but not when it came to this relationship with Jack. Sure, she had mixed feelings about getting closely involved with another man after her experience with Pete, but she enjoyed her rapport with Jack too much to shy away.

Dating still wasn't really their thing though, and she regretted that now, often wondering if she should instigate that change, but reluctant to push it. There was always the possibility she could drive him away, and that was the last thing she wanted.

Perhaps they had simply skipped the dating part and leapt fully blown into the something more she seemed to want. Catherine wasn't certain this was the way Jack might see it; wasn't wholly convinced of it herself either. The lack of dating seemed to be a missing link.

Maybe dating was outmoded for two people of their age and experience, but Catherine would have liked to go out more. There was a time when she had wondered if Jack wanted to hide her away, keep their relationship secret, but it was apparent that wasn't true. Perhaps she needed to talk to him about this, get it out in the open, but Catherine continued to put it off.

The relationship seemed based mainly on the impromptu, rather than anything resembling planning; with the large, very enjoyable and illuminating exception of the weekend in New York. Inevitably, it seemed, Jack would invite himself to her place, or she would ask him to drop round; almost as if they were a still a casual thing. She no longer considered them a casual thing, so these days it kind of bothered her sometimes.

Catherine had been thrilled to be invited to his little team get together, a chance to meet his friends and come out in the open in the Springs. Equally, she'd been pissed with herself for the necessity of missing that occasion. Perhaps it was just as well. Being at his house for the first time with his friends hanging around might have been even more awkward than this was.

So, this invitation a few days before had taken her by surprise; a pleasant surprise, but also slightly unsettling. Like the weekend in New York, this experience was somewhat outside of their comfort zone. The weekend had worked out very well, signifying an intensification of their relationship, and she hoped this occasion would too, but one can never wholly rely on things working out the way one hopes. For sure, his invitation was significant; she knew that. So was his nervousness. Very cute.

Snuggling her head against his chest, her eyes continued to range over his living room. It was interesting to meet the lion in his lair. His possessions, what he held most dear, could tell her a lot about the man.

Then, spotting something in the room that caught her attention, Catherine lifted her head and moved; eyebrows furrowed slightly, making her forehead crease into an expression of puzzlement and curiosity. Without a glance at Jack, she walked away and slowly moved toward the object of interest.

Curious himself, Jack turned to try and fathom what she was looking at. With the exception of her portrait, the contents of the room hadn't changed much for years and he took most of those possessions for granted. Catherine on the other hand, had never been to this house, so everything was new. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, he realized what she'd seen that distracted her so much.

"Who are they?" she asked, picking up the photograph of a smiling Jack with an equally happy looking Sara and Charlie.

'Holy crap!' Jack thought. It wasn't that he wanted to hide the fact of Sara and Charlie. Catherine knew he'd been married, but he had never told her about his son. Charlie might have died many years before, but Jack had never forgiven himself for that terrible loss, even if he might sometimes allow himself to forget. He rarely discussed or referred to that part of his past, even if the memories could still surface all too readily, and Jack wasn't sure he wanted to get into it now, because his heart still stirred and stuttered at those memories.

"That's Sara, my ex," he answered, because he couldn't simply ignore her question, but then Jack fell silent with no further explanation. For a while, Catherine said nothing, staring at the photograph as if trying to burn the image into her memory.

Jack waited in dread for the enquiry he knew was coming, realizing deep down that, however much he didn't want to go there now, it was unavoidable. While waiting, he stood perfectly still with his hands in his pockets, feeling awkward and unsettled. If Catherine had been watching, she might have realized something was wrong, because stillness was something one rarely saw in O'Neill. When it descended, that apparent calm generally meant something, and tranquility was not normally the something it conveyed.

Then, as if waking from a trance, she turned her head towards him and asked the question he knew was coming.

"You told me you didn't have any children. Who's the boy?"

Immediately, Jack knew Catherine was wondering if he'd lied to her, and why. Despite that, his reply wasn't very forthcoming.

"Charlie." His voice was low, almost imperceptible, and his eyes didn't meet hers, but looked at the floor. To Catherine, Jack's demeanor seemed to confirm the lie she believed she'd caught him in, and when he continued, she got annoyed because he glanced up, smiled innocently and spoke in a much brighter, louder tone, like a genial host.

"Can I get you something to drink?" He appeared about to move away to do that even though she hadn't replied, and had refused his earlier offer.

"Now wait a just minute, Jack O'Neill…" she snapped angrily, grabbing his arm.

The look on his face gave her pause. His eyes seemed to have darkened and had a sad, helpless appearance. She recalled once telling him he had talkative eyes, and they spoke volumes now. The problem was she couldn't understand what they were trying to say.

Catherine found it hard to trust, with good reason, but she had learned to trust Jack. Giving that trust had marked this relationship as something of importance and special, so now was not the time to doubt. Although she was struggling to understand, her anger quickly subsided and turned to apprehension.

"What is it, Jack?"

Her question caught O'Neill off guard because her tone had swung from rapidly irritation to concern. He hadn't expected her to read so much about him in those brief moments. It seemed she had come to know him better than he'd realized. Perhaps that was a good thing, but he'd have to consider it.

"Charlie was my son. He died," he said, almost matter-of-fact like, too much so considering his words.

Catherine didn't respond in words, although her mouth seemed to be forming an "O", and her face briefly wore an expression of shock and horror. Instead, she moved towards Jack and wrapped him in her arms. Slender fingers caressed his back, the nape of his neck, and up through his hair, and a small sigh came from Jack's mouth involuntarily.

This woman could make him feel good with a simple touch. He needed that in his life. He'd needed it for a long time, but hadn't wanted to admit that, hadn't sought it. This had simply happened. It had crept up on him, catching him unawares and unprepared. Life was like that, he guessed, and he wasn't complaining, although was perturbed by it. This ambivalence of emotion, the confusion and complexity, had been lurking around almost since they'd first met. He might have been surprised to learn that Catherine's feelings were similarly ambiguous – or maybe not.

Jack might have pushed her away in a situation where he felt vulnerable and exposed, as that could be his inclination when confronted by raging emotions he'd rather keep locked up. Instead, he welcomed her attempt to give him comfort, his previously stilled arms and hands moving to embrace her, tightening with need, and they remained wordlessly in that position for a while before she pulled back.

Keeping one arm around Jack, she urged him towards the couch, sitting him down. Then, joining him and sitting close by his side, she took a hand in hers and caressed it with a brush of her lips.

"Do you want to tell me about it? Talk?" she asked.

Jack shook his head. "Not really."

"Okay."

Her tone was so accepting of his desire for reticence that Jack looked up at her and smiled. He was grateful for her tolerance; that she wouldn't push.

"Let's not spoil our evening together," he commented.

"If you need to talk… that wouldn't spoil anything, Jack."

Flittering through his mind was a thought that she might not believe this if he told her the truth. Then the real truth dawned. Catherine genuinely cared. She had feelings for him that ran deep. If he confided in her, she probably wouldn't shy away. In fact, it might bring them closer together. The notion appealed to Jack, even if he wasn't ready to talk about Charlie.

Nodding an acknowledgement of her words, he moved them away from the seriousness that had invaded their world and changed the subject, secretly continuing to ruminate about it while remaining focused on Catherine.

"I'm not much of a cook," he confessed, "so I figured either take out or a little bistro type place not far from here for dinner. What do you think?"

Stunned by the question after her earlier thoughts about dating, Catherine wasn't sure how to respond. Clearly, he wasn't going to reveal more about Charlie, so she decided to drop the subject as he wished, hoping he might open up more one day. She could wait.

Sure, she wanted to go out for dinner. It was something Catherine yearned for; staring into his eyes over the table, holding his hand, sharing food and intimacy like they had in New York; that kind of thing. On the other hand, given the recent revelation, was it more appropriate to stay put and get a take-out?

"What would you like to do?" she asked, feeling like a dumb ass throwing the question back at him. Normally, she could be more decisive, but circumstances didn't seem to engender that right now.

"Hey, I asked first," responded Jack with a chuckle and grin, determined to put the past few minutes well and truly behind them so they could enjoy their time together. "It's not like you to be so indecisive."

Catherine returned the smile, and her responding tone was light-hearted, but her words staggered Jack.

"The only thing I ever seem to decide in this relationship is where we have sex and how; you on top or me."

Staring at her incredulously for a moment, his fingers sought her cheek and smoothed over it affectionately while he struggled to concoct a suitable comeback. Surely, she knew this wasn't only about the sex? Jack thought he'd been very clear about that lately. When he eventually spoke, he was deadly serious.

"I didn't realize you felt like that. You mean a lot more to me than sex, Catherine."

"I know."

"Do you? Then what are you getting at?"

"I was only kidding around."

"I don't think so."

Eyes fixed firmly on hers, Jack fought the urge to share his thoughts and feelings about her. It wasn't really that much of a tussle because sharing that kind of thing didn't come naturally to O'Neill, not when it involved his heart. She appeared to be contemplating how to react, and when she did, her words gave him a lot to consider.

"Well, we don't go out much like a real couple, do we?"

He paused momentarily, and then leaned in to touch his lips to hers, squeezing her cheek gently with his fingers.

"Okay, that settles it," he said resolutely. "The bistro it is. Grab your stuff. We're going out right now."

"Jack! Not if you would prefer…"

"This is about you. Us," he interrupted, firmly. "You're right. I'm sorry. It's time we started."

"Sorry for what?" she queried, not quite grasping what he was apologizing for.

"I never meant you to think that staying in your apartment and going to bed with you was all I wanted. I didn't mean to hide us away like we're having some sneaky affair. I want more too."

Catherine was surprised how quickly he had grasped the nub of that problem she'd been wrestling with for a while. She couldn't resist her next question, seeking clarity.

"More?"

Slowly, he nodded. "A lot more… like a real couple. I've been a selfish son of a bitch. I like being alone with you. I enjoy your company; just the two of us. But we are a real couple, Catherine. This relationship is very real to me. You mean a lot to me and it's time to prove that."

She leapt on that final sentence, perturbed. "You don't need to prove anything."

Dropping his hand from her cheek, he got up and reached out to take her hand and pull her up with him.

"Yes, I do. C'mere." Jack wrapped her in an embrace, combing through her hair with his fingers, and grasping her back with the other hand. "Now, let's venture out into the big wide world, shall we?" he continued with a cheeky smile when he loosened his grip.

Catherine grinned happily, more than content with his decision. Both Jack's words and actions told her a lot about his feelings for her, and what he really wanted from their relationship.

"Okay, hunk. Let's hit it!" she said teasingly, eyes dancing merrily in a way that told Jack he had made her happy.

Maybe he hadn't said much, and certainly hadn't come anywhere close to the truth of what he was feeling. Her words had heartened him too, as he'd come closer to comprehending the way she felt about him and this relationship as well. That had to be a good thing, right? Jack's previous ambivalence was rapidly disintegrating in the light of this short exchange.

Next stop, the restaurant, and more "dating" type activity. It seemed a little odd to be dating, as if they were a new couple and hadn't already got this far, but he kind of liked the idea. They'd missed that almost step entirely, and Jack regretted not having considered it before. Sheesh, he could be such an ass!

He also figured it was time to organize that get together with Catherine and SG-1 that Daniel craved so much. The need and desire to do so had just become eminently pressing.

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As they prepared to leave the restaurant, the gentlemanly Jack helped Catherine on with her jacket. Standing behind her, and moving closer, he whispered in her ear.

"Do you want me to take you home, or are you coming back to my place?"

"Your place," she replied unfalteringly. "W-would you prefer to take me home?" she added, a moment of panic descending.

Catherine believed their date had gone very well indeed. Excellent food, terrific company. A true date during which they had talked about the kinds of things one does on a date, as if they knew very little about each other.

She'd enjoyed that, and it seemed Jack had too. They'd discussed her studies at Harvard and her change of direction into art, at length. He seemed enthralled, paying close attention to every word. Eventually, she'd turned the conversation back to him and learned more about his family, his upbringing in Chicago, the cabin in Minnesota, and why he'd decided to join the Air Force, with some hilarious stories about his early career. It was mainly light and fluffy stuff, but there was nothing intrinsically wrong with that when out on something one might consider as a real date between a real, normal couple.

Had something gone wrong, she wondered briefly, pondering the reasons behind his question?

"No, I'd like you to come home with me, if you want to," he said immediately, and she smiled, nodding. "I'd just like you to know you have options. It isn't compulsorily or anything. We don't always have to end up sleeping together, or waking up together every time we see each other."

'Ah! So that's where he's coming from,' Catherine thought, reassured, which was obviously his intention. She chastised herself for jumping to conclusions and reading too much into his words. They'd been perfectly innocent and well meant, and she thought Jack was adorable for saying them. And he claimed to be an inarticulate man. Yeah, right!

"I like sleeping with you," she admitted aloud, with restored confidence, "and waking up with you."

"I like it too," he agreed, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. His breath on her neck made her shiver with delight and anticipation. "Ready?" he queried, stepping back.

Catherine turned and shot him a big smile. "For you, flyboy, anytime." Her facial expression turned seductive.

"We don't always have to do that either."

"I know. But I love doing that!"

Chuckling, he nodded. "Me too. Let's hit it, as you might say," he said, turning to walk towards the door of the little bistro.

She followed. The restaurant had been a good choice; an intimate kind of place. Nothing fancy, although the food had been very good, she thought. It was a Western European type of cuisine. French come Italian with a touch of Spanish thrown in for good measure. Simple decor, nice ambience, and decent waiting staff.

Jack was congratulating himself on turning the conversation around to Catherine's education by the simple expedient of asking outright. It seemed an appropriate moment, a date and all that entailed. He resisted the impulse to mock the scientist in her and laugh his ass off at the irony.

As if there weren't already enough scientists in his life to befuddle him and make him feel inadequate. Not that he really felt that inadequate; he was an intelligent man, after all, and highly educated. But, Jack figured that sometimes other people, like Carter and Daniel, believed this was how he felt.

Jack simply never disillusioned them, was all. He'd noticed them eyeing the well earned certificates and diplomas adorning the walls of his office. His friends had just been too polite, or possibly embarrassed, to acknowledge them openly, merely looking dumbstruck by the positive proof that O'Neill wasn't as dumb as he pretended. Jack mentally snickered and remained silent.

Just because he didn't pontificate, didn't mean he didn't know or understand anything. Jack just gave that impression. The O'Neill persona. Again, he had that reputation to maintain and steadfastly maintained it. O'Neill didn't have the patience for detail he didn't need to know to get his job done, just wanted to know if something would work, or not. Pragmatic and very astute – a soldier, a tactician, a commander, and not a scientist.

Jack had enjoyed himself very much on this date with Catherine, and the "date format" seemed to encourage them both to discuss the kind of things they rarely discussed; themselves. More of that was most definitely required, in his opinion, which didn't mean he wanted to reveal his innermost secrets. Jack could divulge parts of his past without doing that, or treading on that slippery, dangerous ground that he feared to tread, and so could Catherine. Refreshing.

"Blues Brothers," she said as they exited into the cool night air.

Distracted, he turned to look at her curiously, pausing in his stride towards the truck. "What?"

"Blues Brothers; the movie with John Belushi and Dan Ackroyd. Hit it. That's where it comes from."

"I get it," he replied agreeably. "Yeah, 'It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark and we're wearing sunglasses', right?" Jack added, quoting directly from the movie with an almost perfect impersonation of Elwood Blues aka Dan Ackroyd.

"That's the one," she said with a snicker in her voice.

"You like that movie?" he asked with a smile.

"Love it. Still makes me laugh and I've seen it at least a dozen times. Great music. I've got a briefcase full of blues."

"Yeah, I like it too," he replied, chuckling

"If you can quote from it, I guess you must do. That was a pretty good impersonation of Dan Ackroyd."

He grinned inanely, pleased that she thought so. "Thanks. It's a funny movie."

"Yeah."

Lapsing into silence, they were both thinking about the many things they had in common, even while there were many more they probably didn't, and Jack steered her towards the truck. With another snicker she said "Hit it!" when he moved his foot onto the gas pedal, and then they said nothing else until they got back to his place.

The silence was one of those relaxed ones you have with people you feel comfortable with, ending the evening with an ease between them that was almost the total opposite of how it had started.

Later, before making love to her for the first time in his bed, Jack leered at her amusingly. "I'm on a mission from God," he said, quoting the movie again, and making her laugh.

Their lovemaking that night was of the playful rather than serious kind, and they cackled and snorted teasingly throughout almost the whole joyful experience.

Having calmed down from the hysterics of their sexual union, Jack cuddled up to her and nuzzled his face into her neck, kissing it tenderly. After long moments of hushed snuggling, he came close to surprising himself with his next whispered words.

"Charlie died a long time ago. It was my fault. You never forget something like that, and you certainly never forgive yourself. Thinking about it, remembering, that's hard enough. Talking about can be downright painful."

Catherine was surprised too, not thinking he would raise that sorry subject again so soon. The mood change was palpable and she wondered why he had mentioned it.

'Still trying to prove something, Jack?' she thought, feeling kind of honored that he brought it up again.

"It's all right," responded Catherine in a soothing tone. "You don't have to tell me anything."

"I think I do," he answered. "You should know what kind of bastard you're sleeping with."

His words and tone made her heart ache for him, that he should have such a poor opinion of himself when it came to the death of his son.

"Jack…" she started, wanting to reassure him. Catherine knew he could be a bastard, understood he could probably be worse than anything she had ever experienced with him, but she also knew he was fundamentally a good man.

He continued as if she hadn't spoken, talking to her neck to avoid meeting her eyes. "A couple of weeks before he died, we had a stupid argument over a toy gun. I didn't want him to play with it. Jeez, I've used a gun almost my whole life, so I know how dangerous they are. He was just a kid, for crying out loud. There's enough of that crap in the world. He was too young."

His inflection grew louder, the soft whisper disappearing in a bitterer tirade tinged with self-loathing. Catherine shuddered, increasingly disturbed by his pain and self-hatred, but she remained quiet so he could blurt it out however he wished. Running her fingers through his hair, she smoothed them over his scalp in a way she hoped was soothing.

"Sara and I were out in the yard. I'd just got home and she was eager to show me a new photo of Charlie; one of those things you have taken at school, you know?" Catherine knew the question was rhetorical so said nothing. "It was a good moment, a happy moment, and then we heard the gun shot."

Catherine gasped with shock and tried to pull back so she could look at Jack's face, but he gripped her hard so she couldn't. It was obvious he didn't want her looking, didn't want her to see that bared soul in his face and eyes.

Realizing this moment was probably hard enough for him to speak of, she stopped trying, simply listening intently and continuing to caress him tenderly and reassuringly; keeping her mouth firmly shut until it seemed appropriate to open it again.

"He was in our bedroom looking for, f-finding, my gun, my ammo. Just a kid, for Christ's sakes. N-not too young to be curious, though, not too young to load a gun. Shot himself. Blood everywhere. I-I tried to stop it, but there was so much blood. Sara was screaming, panicked. I-I couldn't save him; too much blood from such a big gaping hole in such a small guy. Paramedics couldn't save him, or the hospital. T-too late. Just a kid. W-we had to watch our own son die. And our world, our family, died with him. We… we were happy once."

Tears brimmed in Catherine's eyes and she fought to suppress the threatening sobs because he needed her to be strong for him. That much, she understood. So, she didn't speak, couldn't because she was frightened her voice would crack and her sorrow for Jack would all come tumbling out.

Instead, she kissed his hair, which was the only part of him she could reach with her lips, hardly daring to move more than that, not until he was ready. And she needed to be ready too, to steel herself for the moment he was. That was hard when her heart was breaking for him. So, so hard.

"It was my gun; my fault. I should never have left a gun where he could find it, f-find the ammo, load it… shouldn't have kept a gun in the house at all with a curious kid around. Maybe… maybe if I'd let him play with the toy one, it would never have happened. My fault."

He paused for such a long time that she wondered if she dared say anything, whether he needed her to. Jack was holding her so tightly that it almost hurt. His fingers dug into her flesh as if he was desperate to cling onto a lifeline, and maybe he was. Eyes continuing to prick with tears and with her heart feeling leadenly heavy, Catherine was afraid that she'd make things worse.

"Jack…" she ventured, feeling a tremble in her tone, but he started up again, although only briefly.

"What kind of man does that make me? Killing my own son."

When Jack fell silent again, she found her voice, keeping it as even as possible, despite that his pain, guilt and self-disgust made her want to weep, scream or otherwise vent her anger at a world, or a god, that did such things to a man who was worth way more than that.

No parent deserved to lose a child. No one should have to go through such agony, the pain of outliving their child. Such a terrible accident. Such loss. And Jack blamed himself. This was understandable, but gut wrenching.

"Human," she replied. "Fallible, like all the rest of us."

"That's a pretty hard lesson to learn and a tough way to learn it."

"Yes, it is," she agreed. "I'm so sorry, Jack."

He waited for her to say more and when she didn't, he took the initiative to pull back at last and look into her face. When she glanced at him, she realized his expression was stony and she wondered how much effort it took for him to hold back the emotions that must be raging through him. She could almost feel them, but he was holding them in tight, probably stretching himself to breaking point with his confession; his culpability for the sin he had committed so long ago.

"You aren't going to tell me it was an accident; it wasn't my fault; all that crap?" he said.

"No."

"Good."

The urge to kiss her was so overwhelming that he did, and with some style. His fingers twisted in her hair as his tongue explored the mouth he had come to know so intimately and grown to adore.

"Thanks for listening," he said when he drew back. It had felt good to get it out in the open; to speak of it for a change, instead of shutting it all up inside. Jack liked that she hadn't tried to interrupt, get overly emotional or attempt trite reassurances in an attempt to assuage his guilt.

"Thanks for confiding." She liked that he trusted her enough to talk about it when he claimed he didn't want to open that wound, and was determined not to offer the platitudes he anticipated, and probably got when most people found out about his loss and how it had happened. Catherine knew Jack hated cliches, or claimed to.

"I could paint a portrait of him for you if you like," she offered after a long pause.

He seemed startled by her suggestion. "Of Charlie?" he asked, peering into her eyes.

"Yes, if you like," she replied, unwaveringly holding his gaze, not wishing to look away because he might read something unintended into that. His dark smoldering eyes disturbed her though, and it took effort to keep staring into that terrible, but simultaneously beautiful, dark abyss.

"I-I don't know what to say."

"Would you like?"

"That would be… I'd… are you sure?" The expression on his face was no longer the stony one of holding back, nor was it of sorrow for his lost son. It was of puzzlement, confusion, doubt, gratitude; a whole mixture of things, including openly deep affection.

"Sure I'm sure. It would be a pleasure, if you want me to."

He nodded. "I'd like that a lot."

"If you lend me some photos…"

"Yeah, fine. Thanks."

"Pastels for Charlie, I think, or maybe a watercolor. He was a handsome boy."

"Yes, he was."

"Like his dad."

Jack's face broke into a shy, self-deprecating grin "Way better."

"Are you okay with pastels?"

"Whatever you think."

"Okay."

He kissed the tip of her nose, and the atmosphere was charged with emotions and thoughts that remained unexpressed. It would have been wrong to express them because there was too many of them sizzling through the ether to make this the right moment. Any verbal expression of feeling would have seemed like the banality they both wanted to avoid.

They were thinking similar things, however, as they snuggled up to each other again in silence. They were thinking about their relationship, how it had developed, and what they felt about each other. Neither of them was prepared to say it was love because neither of them was entirely certain. They weren't quite yet willing to commit to what that word implied. But both of them were thinking that such a thing was possible, had been thinking it for a while now. Maybe soon it would be time.

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Carter looked irked, as if she resented being distracted from work that was way more important than his. No doubt, she believed it was. This could get unpleasant, O'Neill thought as he stared her down until her eyes fell away.

"Sit down, Colonel," he said, deliberately making his tone an order from a CO to a subordinate. That relationship might be all important to this discussion and it was crucial to be clear about it from the start. This was business, and he wasn't putting up with any nonsense.

"Sir, I'd…" she started, but his eyes blazed as he interrupted, knowing she was about to say she'd prefer to remain standing.

"I said, sit down, Carter." This time his tone brooked absolutely no argument and she obeyed, appearing distinctly annoyed about the situation. So be it, he thought. Two can play at that game. Jack didn't want to get into mind games, but if that's what she wanted, he could beat her hands down every time and she knew it, or he thought she did.

'Don't try taking me on, Carter,' O'Neill thought, 'because I'm way better at this than you and you won't win. Besides, I out rank you and that always helps. Kind of gives me the upper hand, don't ya think?' He suppressed a small grin at the notion, his expression stern and forbidding, and a laugh rumbled through him, but remained firmly inside.

Jack prided himself that Teal'c couldn't have done it any better. Having given her the silent treatment, simply staring at her impassively for very long moments, she cracked first. Chalk one up to O'Neill, he thought slightly mischievously.

"Sir, with all due respect, I have pressing work…" she started, breaking the oppressive silence, which was making her skin prickle with agitation.

"I know all about your important work, Carter, and I'd rather not be wasting my precious time either, having the SGC to run and all that. So, how about humoring your CO," he said snidely, another reminder of who was boss, and that his work was damned important too. She looked suitably chastised, which was quite ridiculously satisfying.

Because she backed down, however slightly, O'Neill decided to give her a break and get on with it, rather than continue with the staring competition.

"So, what's been biting your ass lately, Carter?" he asked about as subtly as a sledgehammer. He could be tactful, really he could, but now was not the time. Jack was rapidly running out of patience. After all, commanding the base genuinely was important work, and he had plenty of it to keep him busy; an over sufficiency, in fact.

"General?" she queried, and he might almost have believed the innocence; almost. But O'Neill was having none of it, not this time.

"Cut the crap, colonel," he responded. "You've been downright obnoxious towards me personally for too long, if not insubordinate, and it has to stop. I'm your CO, for crying out loud. Surely you can't expect me to simply keep ignoring it?"

She chuckled. Chuckled, dammit! Jack seethed, but his anger didn't show in his face, although the stern expression remained fixed.

"I don't know what you mean, sir; with all due respect, of course," she replied daringly.

O'Neill's eyes widened at her gall. "Don't take that tone with me, Carter, or I'll have you up on charges so fast that your feet won't hit the ground until you're stewing in a very small locked room guarded by two SFs; possibly an old broom cupboard with standing room only."

She looked shocked by the threat, as if beginning to truly understand her situation for the first time. The General really meant business. He was angry. An angry O'Neill was dangerous.

"Sir," she said; no apology, just obedience.

O'Neill felt hurt by, and uncomfortable with, her evident antipathy towards him, but concluded that he wasn't there to be liked. It would be preferable, quite nice actually, but was not necessarily a prerequisite for respect, which was way more crucial to a man in his position than affection.

"Whether you like or not, we are going to have this out right now!" he snapped, more irritably. "This can't go on. We need to clear the air so we can work together effectively; we're a team. So, whatever I've done to piss you off, real or imagined, tell me right now, and that's an order, colonel."

That he was so direct bothered her, making her spine and neck tingle and itch with discomfort. So, talking wasn't better than remaining silent for Sam's state of wellbeing. In fact, it was worse. She wished she could return to the original oppressive tone because the atmosphere had heightened to suffocating.

Being direct about this kind of thing wasn't like her CO, or was unlike the colonel she had worked with for so long. The general… now the general was different. Different job, different relationship, different approach.

Gone were the days when this would have worked itself out on a hostile planet, fighting hostile aliens. The direct approach was all he had. Frankly, Sam didn't know where to begin, but she had to try. He was right that her simmering anger couldn't continue tarnishing their relationship, and he was the boss, after all. Settle it now.

"Can I speak frankly sir?" she asked, and he nodded, smugly noting her unease.

Sam shifted uncomfortably in her seat, hands clasped on her laps in front of her as if she was trying to hold them still. She was not succeeding, however, because they ground against each other, and the rest of her was so rigid that he thought she might snap.

Now he looked closer, Jack realized she seemed tired and he wondered what kind of ludicrous work days she'd been putting in lately. Suppressing a twinge of concern, because now was not the time to feel sympathy, he let the dour, poker face slip slightly and glowered at her, his response short, sharp and snappy.

"I expect nothing less, Carter."

Sam wondered what he was thinking. He could be such a disconcerting man. Taking a deep breath, she took the long plunge into an overly frigid and deep pool. No choice.

"I-I overheard you bitching to Daniel about Pete. I-I guess I'm a little annoyed at your attitude."

Jack looked genuinely perplexed, which took the wind out of her sails somewhat.

"Pete?" he asked, obviously astonished. Jack desperately tried to recall any discussion about that particular subject. Pete Shannahan wasn't a man he was in the habit of discussing. In fact, it was something he avoided as much as he possibly could. "I got nothin'," he confessed with a shrug.

Any certainty evaporating rapidly, Sam faltered with her words, but she allowed them to tumble out the way they came, because she had ceased thinking straight anymore.

"Y-you said he was a jerk, a bastard, despicable, nasty, woman stalking scum, sir. You hardly know him. He isn't like that. I-I kind of think your view is a bit presumptuous." Finished with her initial stream of consciousness, Sam hastily added a well worn phrase. "With all due respect, sir."

As she spoke, she could see light dawning in his eyes and felt more confident of her ground. Obviously, he remembered; she hadn't imagined it as she'd been beginning to wonder because of her CO's puzzlement and apparent innocence.

"I just wish you'd give him a break, sir," she continued nervously. "I know there might be some reasons you don't like him much, but…" At those words she paused, face reddening with embarrassment. Jack knew what she was referring to – the unexplored feelings for each other they'd locked up so tight for all these years - but tried to ignore her insinuation so he didn't get equally embarrassed and tongue tied.

"But, you should trust my judgment, sir," she finished.

There was the nub of it, Jack realized; in those few words. It wasn't really his opinions she minded so much. Why should she give a rat's ass for what he thought about Pete or her private life? It was the fact that she perceived his opinions as a slur on her judgment; that she thought he believed she couldn't make sensible choices and decisions.

Sam continued to ramble on for a while, but Jack had stopped listening. He remembered the conversation with Daniel, a few days after he'd returned from New York. They'd been talking about his encounter with Peter Rodgers, and Jack had gone off on a rant about the man, needing to get some issues out of his system before he imploded.

Referring to Catherine's ex husband as Pete was a habit borne from over familiarity with that name in an entirely different context; Pete Shannahan. O'Neill nearly laughed.

If she believed that he was questioning her judgment, it was not so surprising she was annoyed with him. He'd probably be pissed in similar circumstances, if he overheard her griping about Catherine, for example. Then, if it turned out to be an entirely different Catherine… whoa! This was a misunderstanding, pure and simple, and equally simple to resolve, he hoped.

The small smile appearing on his lips surprised Sam, wrong footing her, and her diatribe drew to a hesitant halt as she stared at him in uncertain disbelief.

"I hate to break it to you, Carter," he said slightly snarkily, "but not everything is about you. I wasn't talking about Pete Shannahan."

"W-what?" She looked stunned by that revelation. What other Pete was there?

"Pete is a common name," he continued, and she came close to retorting sarcastically, thinking she had caught him out in a lie, but when he spoke again, she was relieved she'd bitten her tongue. "Catherine's ex-husband is called Pete, Peter. I met him in New York and he's an even bigger jerk, and bastard, than I am. And there was me thinking I was the best at everything. Sooo disheartening."

With those last couple of sentences, O'Neill lightened his tone deliberately, wishing to call the truce. He was relieved that the whole thing was a misunderstanding because that might mean a return to normality and he wouldn't have to feel quite as awkward around Carter anymore. They could revert to their usual discomfiture; one they had shared for many years, alongside the sporadic comradely banter and friendly ease, of course. In O'Neill's experience, not much in life was ever simple and straightforward.

His humorous comment made her smile, but she was mortified about the misunderstanding, realizing she probably should have known better than to believe Jack would talk about her Pete that way to Daniel. Think it, perhaps, but voice it, not likely. Jeez, she was an idiot.

"Oh crap!" she exclaimed, much to Jack's amusement, and then going on to stammer out an apology. "I-I… s-so… I'm so sorry, sir. I…"

Her face had turned beet red, deepening O'Neill's mirth, but he quickly tried to put her out of her misery, waving an arm in the air dismissively.

"Forget it, Carter. Seems we should have had this little chat a while ago, before things got so out of hand. I figured it would all blow over, as things do, but when it didn't…" He shrugged his shoulders, an apologetic expression on his face, knowing if he hadn't waited, hadn't taken so long to summon the courage to confront her, this misunderstanding could have been settled ages ago. "I get it."

"Oh, general, I'm so…"

"I said forget it, Carter. Crossed lines and all of that. Catherine's ex is exactly as I described to Daniel. Your Pete, on the other hand, well, I'm sure you know what you're doing. You normally do."

His smile was reassuring, although Sam still wished the ground would open up and swallow her into a gaping maw.

"I… I…"

"So, am I forgiven?" he asked, suddenly feeling the need to extricate himself from this conversation. Some things didn't bear thinking about, let alone discussion.

She smiled sweetly, grateful for his get out clause and apparent desire to cut the conversation short.

"Nothing to forgive, sir. Me, on the other hand… am I?"

"Always, Carter. Now I know it was just a misunderstanding…"

"Yes, sir," she replied with a nod.

The look on his face told her she was dismissed, even if his words didn't, and she rose from her chair. On her way out, O'Neill spoke again.

"I've trusted your judgment for years, Carter. Never forget that." He was thinking that she wasn't perfect, had her lapses of judgment, but wasn't going to voice that opinion. Who was perfect, after all? Certainly not him.

Although she had her back to him, and didn't turn around, Jack noted her brief nod, and the muttered acknowledgement of the ubiquitous "yes, sir."

He might not have been able to see her face, but knew she was smiling and, for that matter, so was he.

"And, by the way," he added to her retreating back, "you're working too hard Carter. You look tired. Go home early tonight and get some sleep. That's an order."

She paused in her stride, turning back and dazzling him with that brilliantly bright grin of hers. "Yes, sir," she acknowledged and he grinned back.

"I'll be checking up, popping round to your lab…" he said in a friendly tone. Sam rolled her eyes in response, nodding slightly, but the grin remained.

"Don't break anything while you're there, sir."

Chuckling, he shrugged. "I'll try my damnedest, Sam."

Satisfied by his promise to drop by for a visit, and his obviously deliberate use of her Christian name, Sam turned away again and disappeared, relieved that the hostilities were over.

Jack continued to chuckle to himself for a while, and then eyed the never-ending pile of paperwork on his desk with a grimace. Life goes on, he thought, but at least that life was back to normal - amen to that. The grimace turned back to a grin and he reached over for the top file in his in-tray, starting to whistle tunelessly.

Walking down the corridor, Walter Harriman heard the discordant refrain from outside the general's office door and nodded to himself with approval, scuttling off to inform his friend Siler that approachable O'Neill was back - business as usual at the SGC.


	8. Jack's Tough Choices

Title: Jack's Tough Choices

Content Warnings: Language and domestic violence

Spoilers: Endgame and Gemini

Summary: Jack has options. He'll do the right thing – won't he? The right thing according to Jack O'Neill.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2008 Su Freund

Author's Note:

1. My muse was inspired to write this new chapter by the encouragement of readers like Astra, Lynette and others, who nicely nagged me for more. The beginning of this story owes much to Astra's memories about choice, or lack of it, in the former German Democratic Republic - and the huge shock of, and adjustment to, the sudden abundance of choice thrust upon a society that previously had a dearth of choices. Her memories provoked my thoughts. Thus, the chapter is dedicated to my good friend Astra, those who have patiently waited for more Jack and Catherine and enjoyed my alternative partner for Jack, and to all those who value freedom, of both choice and spirit.

2. Thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for beta reading this story, for pointing out the errors of my ways, and for her always helpful suggestions. Thanks also to ImmerRDA for having a read through and reassuring me about aspects of this plot that centre around domestic violence. Any remaining errors are, of course, entirely my own.

**Title: Jack's Tough Choices **

Jack O'Neill stood in front of the large array of breakfast cereals pondering which one to throw into his cart. Choice. Sometimes he thought there was way too much of it. Life would be much simpler if there were fewer options. On the other hand, this is what living in a free and democratic country was all about, isn't it? Making choices, all the way from breakfast cereals through to Presidential candidates.

Making choices could be hard. Sometimes, he had to make choices that could impact on the whole universe. They were never easy, but he made them and lived with the consequences. Yet, sometimes, choosing the right breakfast cereal could seem like the most difficult thing in the whole world. Sheesh!

His eyes wandered over the options, from the simple cornflake to the more complex muesli, from the bran to the oats. Oats. They were meant to be healthy, right? Good for the heart. Catherine liked oat based cereals, he recalled. He should get something she enjoyed so when she stayed over he could offer her some breakfast she might like.

Reaching out, he picked one and placed it in the cart. Then he saw the Froot Loops and grinned foolishly at a memory of the time looping incident. For weeks on end, Jack had started each boring Groundhog Day like loop with a mouthful of Froot Loops.

The fact that he looped with Loops was an oddly perverse coincidence that might have been funny if it had not been so darned frustrating. Needless to say, he had been unable to face that breakfast cereal for months. Now, without further thought, he reached out for some of them too and placed them alongside the rest of his shopping. Nothing like having a choice, right?

The trouble with choices is that sometimes they can get you into trouble. He had made many poor choices in his time, but then didn't everyone? He had made good ones too.

Occasionally, good choices can also be bad ones. Like the choice he had made recently to delay The Prometheus from firing on Osiris' stolen al'kesh. There was a perfect example of the conundrum. That had saved SG-1's collective asses, and the Stargate, but it meant the Trust still had an al'kesh, and a quantity of Goa'uld poison. That was hard to live with. Downright risky and dangerous, but so worth it to see SG-1 make it home.

Jack figured living with that decision was never going to be a piece of cake, but who said life had to be easy, right? He was more than happy that he had saved his team – always something he could live with, whatever the consequences.

Then there was the whole Carter debacle. The notion of duplicate Carters running around the universe was weird enough. When one of them is a Repli-Carter, all that knowledge and intellect bound up in an evil twin, it was a terrifying prospect.

He made the wrong choice by letting Carter run with her gut feeling and talk to the damned thing. Instead, he should have followed his own gut and given the Replicator what she claimed to want – a quick death. That wrong choice seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. O'Neill should have known better.

The Replicator had played them, played Carter, planned it all to the last detail. She had outsmarted them all. Of course she had, she was Carter, right? Carter with bad ass Replicator attitude. Scary. Man, he sure was pleased the real one was on their side. It might give them a fighting chance at defeating the duplicate when she came. And she would come, along with her bug-like armies. Jack was certain of that. He so hated those guys, and the thought made him shudder. Oy!

Carter blamed herself, however, and she was right to, no matter what he told her. Bottom line was, though, that the buck stopped with him. His decisions; his fault.

O'Neill knew these recent choices were going to come back and bite him on the butt. Consequences. Inevitable. They would deal with it. They always did - he hoped.

The day one of his decisions destroyed Earth would be the day he would welcome kissing his ass goodbye. He would take that bullet, and willingly, although not before taking as many of them with him as possible, whoever they may be. Never say die until you have to, that was an article of faith with Jack O'Neill.

If he was to blame, though… that didn't bear thinking about. So, he would avoid thinking about it and keep making those decisions, hoping they were the right ones. It was all he could do; his best. If his best was not good enough then he would not be the first man to wear those shoes. He would just have to hope like hell he was not the last.

Preoccupied with these dark thoughts, O'Neill paid the cashier almost on auto-pilot, making his way to his truck in the same way. As he loaded the shopping into the trunk and jumped in to start her up, Jack made a determined effort to think good thoughts. Catherine. She was normally sufficient to lighten a gloomy day.

Things at the SGC had been so funky lately that Jack had not had much time to see her. The little get together at his place, planned so SG-1 could meet Catherine, had been postponed a number of times. That sure was getting tiresome. Jack hoped nothing happened to stop it going ahead this coming weekend. He was looking forward to it, wanting to show her off to his friends, wanting their approval.

Not that he needed their approval, not really, but it would be the icing on the cake. He was certain Daniel would like her, and Teal'c… well, who knew with the big guy, but Jack could see no reason why he wouldn't. Who could fail to think she was great, for crying out loud? There was nothing not to like, was there? Then, Catherine and Carter had that science stuff in common, so he figured they were bound to get on like the proverbial house on fire.

The fact that Catherine was a scientist type still amused Jack highly. He had nearly choked on his beer a couple of times while he and Catherine discussed her scientific background on their date a few weeks before.

To O'Neill, it sounded like she might have been just like Carter, once upon a time: almost nothing more satisfying than time spent in the lab laboring over an experiment and research – a dedicated workaholic. He was relieved to discover she had never got into the astrophysics type stuff, more interested in bio-engineering, which had become her specialty. But this still meant she was pretty darned hot at physics and math and all those other pesky things Carter was into.

Catherine had gone the whole way with the Bachelor of Science route, which had meant a lot more work than the alternative Bachelor of Arts in Engineering Science. Part of Jack's beer choking came when she referred to research in nanotechnology. Apart from the obvious bad memories nanobots brought to mind, Jack had not even realized that such a thing as nanotechnology had even existed back then. Not that Catherine was old, of course, just that he believed those little beggars were one of those newer cutting-edge of technology things.

When he loudly exclaimed "what?" at the mention of machine like creatures smaller than a pin head that blithely run around your blood stream wreaking havoc, Catherine simply assumed he hadn't a clue what nanobots were. Jack didn't demur and her patient, no nonsense explanation was so simple and concise that it made him believe he could have told Carter what they were.

That would give his ex-second in command a shock and O'Neill sometimes wondered if he should try it. Top marks to Catherine for failing to confuse him with techno-babble; bright, beautiful, sexy, and able to communicate in plain English that even a simpleton like he could understand. Yay! He occasionally wondered whether she knew anything about wormholes so she could explain them to him without using fruit as a visual aid.

Jack asked why she had given it all up; the glittering career that appeared to be following on from her Doctorate - not to mention the Nobel Prize that Jack was secretly certain she would have gotten around to earning eventually. Had he thought her bright? Brilliant more like.

The answer had been Peter Rodgers. Might have guessed. Jack realized feminists were right in believing men had a lot to answer for.

Marriage and what Pete believed was a wife's duty to support her husband's career because that came first. Way more important than her little sideline of a "job". He insisted she hang on his arm like a trophy wife so he could show her off to all his wealthy friends and business contacts, be the perfect hostess and all that crap. Sheesh! Hadn't that kind of thing gone out of style years ago? Apparently not.

Jack could not believe the woman he knew had gone along with it, but she had. Wouldn't now, but obviously this was a different Catherine to the person who had married Rodgers.

Her parents had raised her to be dutiful. Educated, sure, but this was merely the equivalent to what learning an instrument or drawing might have been a couple of hundred years ago. Marriage and duty come first. Having an educated wife was an advantage to a man like Peter Rodgers. She could entertain his friends and be intelligent company. Rather than having a career of her own, she should be involved with charity work, organize dinners and parties and make her husband look good. Jack thought that "accomplished wife" nonsense sounded a little too Jane Austen but, apparently, this was often the way with people like the Fellowes and Rodgers families, or so it seemed.

Jack could relate to being dutiful, but not like that. For him, this was yet another reason for disliking her parents. There were many of those, in his humble opinion; most of which he would never voice to Catherine. She was still considering whether to grasp the olive branch her mother had held out to her at the fundraiser in New York.

Catherine was taking her time about it, with good reason, Jack thought. Whatever she decided, he would support her to the hilt – right by her side if needs be, no matter how much he loathed her family. They so did not deserve her, but if she wanted to make nice with them, that was her decision. Another choice, for good or ill, and not an easy one to make.

O'Neill was not about to make things worse for her by expressing his opinion of the despicable Mr. and Mrs. Fellowes. No sirree. So he kept his mouth shut on that subject as much as possible.

He had read a lot about them from his internet explorations. There was good and bad, as with anyone. It was those little details he knew about them personally, from what Catherine had told him, that made him despise them. They had treated her badly, not believed her words about her husband, nor listened to her pleas for help. Quite some ma and pa!

If they were willing to believe her now, willing to listen, that could be a good thing. Maybe Catherine could find some peace of mind about her family at last. Jack, however, did not trust them. Neither did Catherine, it seemed. This was one reason she was prevaricating about that olive branch. She worried the branch might have a poisonous asp wrapped around it, ready to strike.

If they hurt her again… O'Neill was determined he would find a way to hurt them back.

Ack! Negative thoughts. He had so promised himself he would stop it with the negativity. Good thoughts, think good thoughts, he admonished himself as he turned the truck into his street.

He was seeing her later and that would cheer him up. With everything that had been going on, the rare occasions he had seen her lately had mainly been to sleep. This was good. Jack loved waking up entwined with Catherine. But it was not good enough.

So far, they had failed to manage that promised second date. O'Neill was contrite about this, although she seemed to understand. All being well, tonight would be the night he made up for his neglect. If the crap hit the fan back at the SGC, he would be furious, spitting blood.

Jack was picking her up at her place later and taking her off to Denver for the night – dinner, the opera and a nice hotel. What could be better than that? The en suite had a very large spa type bath. They sure were going to have some fun with that. The very notion made him feel horny. Making love to Catherine in a Jacuzzi - what a score!

Then, when they returned to the Springs, Catherine was coming to his house for the night. This was her first visit since that one time a few weeks before. Jack believed it was wrong she had not yet returned, and was determined to right any wrongs. That is what the next couple of days were all about. Romancing Catherine, giving her whatever she wanted. She deserved that.

O'Neill was so looking forward to their couple of days together, but was afraid of jinxing it by thinking about it too much. Ditto the barbeque he had arranged with his friends for the coming weekend.

He was seriously hoping that none of those bad choices he had been contemplating would come back to bite him on the ass within the next few days. He deserved a life, didn't he? Life had cut him a break by introducing him to Catherine in the first place. He sure could do with it cutting him another one right about now.

Jack unpacked and put away his shopping, purchased on the off chance that he might have an opportunity to eat some of the fresh food before it went off for a change. Then he hit the shower. He had already done all the chores, tidied the place and cleaned, packed an overnight bag. All he had to do to prepare for their couple of days together was get ready and go pick her up.

As he relaxed under the hot streaming water, Jack smiled dreamily to himself. Catherine was a woman worth making an effort for. Despite wealth, brains and beauty, she'd had it tough and he did not intend to make her life tougher. Not if he could help it.

He admired the fact she had crawled out from under Pete's bullying, scumbag thumb and created a very different life for herself. Apparently, Catherine's painting had started as a hobby, become a passion, and then turned into a career. She fell under its spell, and that was that. She loved being an artist and felt lucky that life had given her an opportunity many other creative people did not get.

Catherine was good at it, enjoying the creativity more than experimental lab work. Art fitted the new lifestyle she wanted to lead - a different, new improved lifestyle: the bohemian, liberated, confident woman.

Scratch the surface, however, and the old Catherine was underneath. Although she didn't voice it, Jack figured she was afraid this old Catherine would rise again and take over her life. Fearful she would revert to the obedient second citizen, the cowering heap on the floor that allowed a spineless, despot of a man to kick the crap out of her. Jack didn't think so, but what did he know? He prayed this never happened because he liked the new improved Catherine very much indeed.

Why had she married Pete? Apparently, Catherine couldn't figure it either. Parents, upbringing, the desire to please and put others first, because that way of life was what was expected in her family, as it had been for generations - who knew?

Having got ready, Jack realized he was way too early and made coffee before double checking the contents of his bag to ensure he had everything. Of course, he had everything. O'Neill knew how to pack a bag, right?

Slightly jittery, he sat back to relax and enjoy his shot of caffeine. Why was he jittery, for crying out loud? He had checked the hotel booking and everything was in place for the perfect evening: the bouquet of flowers and bottle of bubbly he had arranged for their arrival; the hotel spa treatments he had booked for Catherine next morning. His tux was packed. All he needed now was the beautiful Catherine.

This was all good, right? So why did his neck prickle like there was danger lurking around the next corner. It made him feel distinctly uncomfortable. What worried him most was that he was rarely wrong about those kinds of things. If his neck prickled, shit invariably happened.

"Not today, please," he begged the thin air. "Pretty please?" he added, looking around hopefully. The prickle stubbornly remained firmly in place. "Crap!" he exclaimed, wondering whether to call the SGC. If they needed him, surely they would call? 'Sure they will, leave it O'Neill,' he cautioned himself. 'No point looking for trouble, right?'

The ringing cell phone took him by surprise and he glared at it for a couple of rings. Scrunching up his eyes, he hoped it would stop nagging at him in that accusing and persistent manner. It did not. Sighing heavily and without glancing at the caller ID, he picked it up.

"O'Neill," he snapped, angry that his well laid plans seemed to be about to turn to brown smelly stuff. But, instead of someone at the SGC, he heard Catherine's voice on the other end. She sounded very upset, her tone small and weak.

"Jack, can you come over? Now?" she asked, actually more of a plea than a question. Jack's heart leapt. Something was very wrong, he knew it.

"Catherine? Honey, what is it? What's wrong?"

"Please just come, Jack."

"I'm there, baby. Hang on in there."

Grabbing his jacket and overnight bag, he flew out the door into the truck, had the engine gunned up and was on his way in double quick time. He was still holding the cell phone with Catherine at the other end.

"Catherine?" he said worriedly. "You there? Catherine?"

She had hung up. He hit redial, but got nothing. The discomforting itch in his neck worsened and he tried to calm himself. There was nothing he could do for her until he got there. Jack hated that; felt helpless. He also hated that he had absolutely no clue as to what could be wrong.

Trying to suppress his fears so he could concentrate on the road, Jack drove as quickly as he could without allowing himself to get a ticket en route. It was frustrating, but necessary. He could not help Catherine if the cops pulled him over.

His frustration deepened with every delay; red lights, other drivers, pedestrians, traffic. Jack was beginning to understand road rage. He tried to control that rage knowing it would do more harm than good. Generally, it was better to use anger in positive ways. A brilliant motivator when channeled correctly. That was not always an easy creed to live up to; nevertheless, it was another one of O'Neill's articles of faith.

The relatively short journey seemed to take an age. During that time, Jack's dark mood had started to descend on him again. He could not help worrying about what he might find at Catherine's place. It was not like her to call sounding upset - so upset that he was fairly certain she was crying. His prickly skin coupled with this fact about Catherine, and her failure to answer her phone again, disturbed him enormously.

By the time he reached her apartment block and parked the truck, his heart was racing and Jack was imagining all kinds of horrors. He sprinted to the door, his long ringing on the buzzer close to desperation.

"Catherine!" he called into the intercom when she failed to answer. "Catherine, it's me; Jack!" He buzzed again. 'Where the hell is she? What's happened?' he thought frantically.

Cursing his stupidity, he reached into his pocket. She had given him a set of keys so he could let himself into her apartment, and into her bed, no matter what time he finished work. This had been a real big thing for both of them, but he was so uptight that this little factoid had almost slipped his mind.

Hands shaking, he fumbled with the lock, dashing in and to her apartment, groping awkwardly with the key again at her door and slamming it behind him once it opened.

"Catherine!" he cried out again as he darted into the nearest room only to find it empty. Backing out into the hall, Jack hurried to the next room. Then he heard her.

"Jack! Jack, I'm here!"

O'Neill traced the sound to her studio at the back of the apartment and he quickly made his way there, pausing with shock at the door. The room was a mess. There was paint everywhere, containers and brushes scattered all over, along with broken glass, shredded canvas and paper.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed.

At first, Jack did not see her, although his eyes darted this way and that. Then he heard what he could only describe as a whimper and, looking in that direction, he gasped. Catherine was curled up into herself on the floor in the corner of the room. She was a mess too, covered in paint, maybe worse. He could not make it out.

In a flash, he was kneeling in front of her. "Catherine, honey. What happened? Are you alright?" She obviously was not all right, but what he really wanted to know was whether she was injured. Because of the paint, it was hard to tell just by looking at her.

"Oh, Jack," she sobbed, grasping him. "Thank god you're here."

Catherine buried her face in his chest and started sobbing. Jack had never seen her like this before and it terrified the living daylights out of him. Something very bad had happened and he was itching to know what, but he had to be patient. She was in one hell of a state.

At a loss, O'Neill cradled her in his arms, caressing her soothingly and whispering reassuring but trite words in her ear, like "I'm here now, baby" and "You'll be okay now, honey; everything is fine now."

He knew the words were meaningless. Nevertheless, he persisted, hoping to calm her down so she could tell him what had happened.

Eventually, she did calm down and stop sobbing. When she raised her head from the comfort if his chest and looked up at him, her face and eyes were red and puffy from the tears.

"Pete was here," she said.

Jack was stunned. "Pete? Here?" Clearly, his warning to her ex in New York had not worked as he had hoped. It might even have provoked the son of a bitch. O'Neill tried to smother his anger as it was the last thing Catherine needed right then. "What did he do? Did he hurt you?"

"He's crazy. He ruined everything. He ruined your portrait." This prompted her to start crying again. Jack let her continue for a while before saying anything.

"The portrait doesn't matter, honey, and the things don't matter. You can get new things, paint new portraits. What about you? Did he hurt you?"

O'Neill was not sure he knew what he would do if her answer was yes, was not sure he could be held responsible for his actions. He did know, however, that he would have to do something; probably something extremely unpleasant and distasteful.

"A little," she replied weakly. "I sure whopped him back, though" She smiled then and Jack chuckled.

"Boy, am I glad to hear that. What did he do? Apart from wreck the joint, that is."

She paused silently and when she spoke, did not answer his question. "I think I'd like to get up now," she said, sounding way more like the Catherine he knew; the stronger Catherine.

Sighing inwardly at her lack of response to his question, Jack got up and then helped her. For a moment, he simply regarded her anxiously and stroked her hair.

"Is all this red stuff paint, or is some of it blood?" he asked with concern.

"I'm not sure," she replied, frankly. "I think I'm mainly okay, although I'm a little sore."

Jack's heart lurched dramatically at the uncertainty over injuries. He could be doing the wrong thing. Should he get her a hot drink, clean her up, or what? Maybe he should call an ambulance. Dithering for a moment, he took a breath to calm down and then spoke decisively.

"Let's get you to the bathroom and clean you up." Catherine nodded mutely. "Can you walk okay?" She nodded again.

Gingerly, he helped her to the bathroom, stripped off her clothes and stood her in the shower. He didn't step in with her but removed his jacket and t-shirt, threw a few towels on the floor, and stood with the cubicle door open, helping to wash off all the paint and whatever else might be covering her. He was getting soaked, as was the floor, but Jack had more important things to worry about than a little H20.

Catherine simply stood there unmoving and let him get on with it. Although she had started to sound a little more like her usual self in her manner of speech, Jack took this to be a sign that she was far from normal. She let him move her gently when he needed to, but was otherwise unresponsive. This demeanor bothered him.

As he washed the paint away, he began to notice the bruises. Rodgers had grasped the tops of her arms so overly powerfully that O'Neill could almost see the fingerprints. A large bruise was forming on her back. It looked like her bastard ex had punched Catherine in the stomach and slapped, if not punched, her in the face.

Who knew what else that slime ball had done to her? Catherine needed to see a doctor. She might be suffering from internal injuries, although Jack was relieved to see that her skin appeared to be unbroken, which was something.

Unfortunately, oil-based paints are darned stubborn and simply refuse to budge with mere soap and water. Having tenderly washed away any water based concoctions, Jack wanted to get a good look at the extent of her injuries so was determined to remove the rest of it. Sighing to himself, he leaned in to kiss Catherine softly on her wet hair and explain his intentions.

"Catherine, honey, I'm gonna need to use something else to get rid of some of this oil-based gunk. Just stay here and I'll be back soon, I promise."

Because she was unsteady on her feet, Jack gently propped her against the shower stall, pausing for a moment to ensure she would be alright before venturing back to her studio. Then, as he looked around for something to use to remove the paint, he started to worry about using powerful chemicals on wounds he was uncertain about, so he about-faced and quickly returned to the bathroom. Surely, even he could tell the difference between superficial injuries and paint, damn it?

Examining her briefly as best as he could, O'Neill decided there was little more he could do for her in the shower. She was as cleaned up as she was going to get without risking exacerbating her injuries. He needed a proper medical opinion.

"I need to get you to the hospital," O'Neill said as he encouraged her out of the shower and wrapped her in a large towel. He was so going to get Rodgers. The son of a bitch was not getting away with this one.

"No." Jack was startled because Catherine was so emphatic.

"Catherine…" he started.

"I've had far worse. I'm fine," she interrupted. Jack had used that one himself so remained unconvinced. "I'm just scared; terrified if truth be told."

"Shit. I'm gonna kill that guy." He could do it too, possibly without a qualm, although Jack doubted that, even though Rodgers would deserve it. O'Neill had warned the man.

But Jack realized right now was not the time to think about it. Catherine needed something else, not revenge. "C'mere," he said, and she almost literally fell into his open arms. He wanted to tell her she need not be scared, that he was there for her, but Jack knew he could not protect her every hour of the day. She was vulnerable and he did not like that one little bit.

After long moments of holding her in silence, O'Neill encouraged her out of the bathroom and stopped at the bedroom for her robe. Once he helped her put it on, he took her to the living room and sat her on the couch.

"I'll make some herbal tea," he said, bending down to kiss the top of her head. Caffeine was out, he thought, at least until he was sure about her injuries. Herbal tea was unlikely to be harmful, he hoped. "Be right back."

O'Neill did not want to leave her alone even for a second, not when she was scared, but did not have much choice. Briefly, he considered calling one of his friends, but dismissed the thought. Catherine would not want any of them to see her like this.

Then he thought of a plan that might satisfy both him and Catherine, avoiding the hospital unless it was strictly necessary. If Janet was still alive, he would have called her and he bet she would have come, but she was not. He wondered, however, whether Dr Brightman would consider making a house call. Jack did not know her that well, not like Janet, but she might be willing to do him a favor. Having the base commander owing her one could come in useful.

When he returned with the tea, Jack sat next to Catherine on the couch and took her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Wanna tell me what happened."

She shrugged almost casually; too casually. "Pete turned up, played nice at first. When things didn't go the way he wanted, he made some threats, wrecked the studio, nearly wrecked me, and then went away again. Then I called you."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that."

Jack nodded. "I guess you'll tell me when you're ready. I'll settle for that. You don't have to hide anything from me, Catherine."

"I don't want you to get yourself into any trouble. I know you, flyboy."

"You think I'll go after him?"

"Tell me truthfully that you won't."

Jack said nothing. What could he say? She was right and there was no point in lying about it. So, he remained silent and placed an arm around her shoulder. Catherine snuggled into his neck.

"I'd feel better if you saw a doctor," he commented. "You should get checked out to make sure there aren't any injuries we can't see."

Jack was also thinking about police and that he might have washed away evidence, but knew that if she baulked at a hospital, the police were out of the equation too. He did not like the helplessness and indecisiveness caused by this situation - screwed whatever he did. But if Catherine wanted to keep this personal, he would live with that. Maybe it was for the best. He had some options and he would do the right thing, wouldn't he? The right thing according to Jack O'Neill.

"I told you, I'm fine."

"I've heard myself tell that little lie so many times that I can't believe it coming from anyone else. Please, Catherine."

She was finding it difficult to refuse him. Jack could be persistent, if not downright stubborn. Catherine knew he would not let this go. "No hospitals."

"Um, okay. Not if you don't need one. But I work with a doctor who might be willing to do me a favor."

"All right," she agreed reluctantly. "If he will come here."

"She," Jack corrected. "Doc Brightman. She's a doll." Catherine chuckled and Jack was relieved to hear that sound on her lips.

After calling the Doc and persuading her to come, which was not as hard as he had feared, Jack returned to his previous position on the couch as chief hugger and protector.

"I'm sorry I wrecked your plans; Denver, the opera and everything," she said. The words angered him, not because she said them but because none of this was her fault. Catherine should in no way be blaming herself, but wasn't this often the way with battered wives? If that bastard had destroyed her self-esteem, he would pay big time.

"You didn't wreck my plans," he replied more placidly then he felt, all the while caressing her arm soothingly. "Pete Rodgers did that. Don't start with that blaming yourself crap. It's his fault. He did this. You didn't do anything to deserve it."

"Are you angry?" she asked.

"Yes, furious, but not with you," he responded in a calm tone that might have seemed to belie his words.

She seemed satisfied with that response but Jack was finding it hard to gauge her mood. "I was looking forward to our trip," she said.

"So was I, but there'll be other times, won't there?"

"I hope so."

"Sure there will, baby," he said, kissing her forehead softly.

Silence descended once more until she broke it. "He didn't leave here unscathed. I gave him what's for. I was terrified but…"

"You fought back?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

"Good. That's the spirit."

Jack smiled. That's a good sign, right? When married to the man she had rarely, if ever, fought back. Rodgers had knocked the fight out of her, at least until the end, when she plucked up courage to leave him. Fighting back now would seem to indicate that Catherine still had some of the self-esteem she had recouped. Not that Jack knew a lot about the psyche of battered wives, but he figured it was a positive thing.

Catherine leaned up to kiss his neck and lay her hand on his thigh, stroking it gently but absently. "I vowed I would never let a man do that to me again, not without a fight."

"You go girl."

"Jack, I was so frightened," she confessed.

O'Neill drew in a breath. It pained him to know she was scared, but he understood her fear. How could she fail to be afraid of her ex, of men, after her experiences? Jack felt blessed to have gained her trust and he would never betray that precious gift.

Placing a hand on her chin, he gently eased her face upward to look into his, and she met his eyes. "I know," he replied in a sad tone. "I wish you didn't have to be. You deserve better." He softly pecked her on the lips and then withdrew, but continued to hold her gaze. "I wish I could make your fear stop, make the whole thing go away, but I can't. I hate that I can't."

She smiled. "You really are a very sweet man. A good man."

"Sweet? I can be a bad assed, mean motherf… if I have to be."

"I'm sure you can, Jack, but not with me."

He grinned, but then his expression took on a serious air. "I'm way short of perfect, Catherine…"

"Aren't we all?" she retorted. "How bad do I look?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Hey, you always look hot to me," he answered with a smirk.

"Seriously, Jack." He nodded acknowledgement of her need to know and started looking her over.

"The left side of your face is beginning to swell up. You're gonna have one heck of a shiner," he said, smoothing his fingertips very softly over the swelling flesh.

"Feels like it," she said, wincing slightly.

Jack quickly withdrew his finger. "Sorry! I didn't mean…" As he apologized for hurting her, she grabbed the hand.

"You weren't hurting me Jack. You would never hurt me. Not physically, anyway."

He cocked an eyebrow, wondering what she was getting at. Did that mean she believed he would hurt her non-physically? Maybe he would, come to that. He did not want to, but it happened. Life was like that. One day, he might. O'Neill decided to let the comment go and say nothing. Far safer. Besides, he could hardly blame her for feeling a little cynical right now, not after what her ex had just done.

Jack was surprised when she kissed the hand she had grasped. "It smarts, but not because you touched me. It just hurts. Does it look really bad?"

"It looks pretty painful, yeah."

She sighed. "My back hurts, my stomach hurts, my face hurts. That…" Catherine did not complete the curse she had been about to utter. Instead, she turned inward, self critically. "Why the hell did I let him in?"

'Good question,' Jack thought but remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"He seemed so plausible, so..." she paused, sighing as if struggling for the right words. "Pete can be a charmer when he wants to be. I guess that's why I married him, why my parents…"

She tailed off and O'Neill gave her a small squeeze of encouragement, acutely aware he did not wish to hurt her inadvertently. His wrath seethed beneath the surface. Its destructive tendrils twisted over and through him, squeezing, crushing and choking him. They taunted and tempted Jack like the Devil disguised as a snake in the Garden of Eden, but he quashed his fury with firm self-control. Anger could wait. He would grasp those perilously creeping tendrils and turn them toward his purpose at a more appropriate time.

When the apartment's buzzer interrupted their thoughts, Jack felt her start with fear and grimaced. "That will be Brightman," he said, getting up.

"It might be him," Catherine retorted fearfully.

"You think he'll come back?" He glanced at her, feeling sickened by the look of terror in her eyes.

"I don't know. He said he'd be sticking around town for a few of days. He wanted to scare me. That was the whole point."

"Freakin' scum!" Jack exclaimed. "Stay put. If that bastard has the nerve to show up while I'm around he'll get what's coming." Catherine looked horrified.

"Jack, please don't make trouble for yourself."

He merely glanced at her thin lipped and went to answer the door cautiously. O'Neill was ready if he needed to be. Of course, it turned out to be Brightman.

Jack paced in the living room while the Doc checked Catherine over in the bedroom. He was fit to explode, a volatile volcano that might blow any moment, muttering and cursing about Rodgers under his breath as he paced. The need to do something, to protect, to avenge, dominated his thoughts. For now, however, he would settle for knowing Catherine was physically okay – although her mental wellbeing worried him too.

His beautiful, bubbly, smiling Catherine. She had already known too much fear, too much pain and angst. The son of a bitch had raised the demon all over again and Jack feared she might not be herself for a long time to come. Who knew what impact these events might have on her psyche? Or how they might affect the great relationship they had been building over the weeks since they had met.

Had that been Pete Rodgers' intention? To ruin her life again, to spoil what happiness she had found? Possibly. He claimed to want her back, and maybe that was true. More likely, however, it was a case of if he could not have her, then no one else could either.

Jack blamed himself. He had a tendency to do that, think things were his fault. If he had not attended the fundraiser with Catherine, this might never have happened. If Rodgers had never seen them together, if Jack had never threatened him, if… it came down to choices yet again. Everything comes down to the choices one makes, doesn't it?

He paused in his pacing to pour himself a large scotch and down it in one. Then he poured another, which he placed on her coffee table, and started pacing once more. Fretful, fearful, regretful, and furious. He could not allow Catherine to see that fury, or his need to avenge her. She should never know about that other person Jack O'Neill could become. The angel of death.

When Doctor Brightman entered the room, she interrupted his vengeful and turbulent thoughts. O'Neill looked up at her expectantly, waiting for the report, as he had done so many times with injured members of his command.

"No serious damage," she said and one of the weights on his shoulders lifted. "She's battered and bruised, but nothing is broken and I don't think there is any internal damage. It could have been way worse. I've given her a sedative and she's asleep now."

"Thanks, Doc. No hospital, then?"

"I don't think it's necessary for her injuries, no, although I would have preferred it. She doesn't want to go to hospital, and I'll live with that, sir, as a favor to you, but you ought to report this to the police."

"That's kind of up to her, don't you think?"

Brightman stared at him silently for a moment before responding, as if in thought. "She doesn't seem to want them involved either. That's often true of domestic violence cases, but it doesn't make it right."

"No." Jack agreed, but no way was he going to force Catherine's hand on this one. It was not up to him. This was her life, no matter how it impacted on him.

Reluctantly, he asked one of the questions about the attack that had been playing on his mind, dreading the response. "Um, maybe I shouldn't be asking but… sh-she… he didn't…" he stammered, finding it hard to ask and unable to meet Brightman's eyes. "Was there any sign of sexual assault?" he managed to say eventually, looking at her sharply now he had asked the question.

The doctor looked grim but shook her head. "No signs of it and she says not. But you washed off most of the evidence, sir." She looked more than unhappy about that. "I managed to find some skin and blood under her fingernails. Seems you didn't think to get rid of that." Her tone was a rebuke, although Jack had no doubt that it was intended to be a dig at him washing away the evidence rather than because he'd inadvertently left some behind. "She must have put up quite some fight. I've bagged and tagged it just in case. By the way, I managed to remove the remaining oil-based paint while I was treating her. A mild alcohol solution."

Jack nodded an acknowledgement, relieved that Rodgers hadn't sexually assaulted Catherine. "I didn't give her a shower to get rid of evidence, captain. I needed to know what he'd done to her. I couldn't see. Paint got in the way."

The doctor made him feel defensive of his actions and O'Neill did not require any lectures. Maybe he had done the right thing, or maybe not. Having determined her injuries did not appear to be a threat to her life or limb, or not immediately, he had made the choice and to hell with the consequences.

"I understand, General. I just hate the idea that this bastard might go unpunished, sir."

"He won't."

The doctor glared at him, wondering what he was thinking. General O'Neill had quite a reputation at the SGC. He could be one heck of a bad ass when circumstances required it, and he was extremely well trained, and wily.

"You should let the police handle this, General O'Neill," she commented.

"Yes, I should."

"But you won't?" she queried. Brightman's eyes narrowed as the glare continued. Jack felt slightly discomforted by her gaze. What is it with doctors, he wondered. Janet Fraiser would probably have made him react exactly the same way. No doubt, they would have had a 'little chat' right about now. He did not know Brightman well enough for that yet.

"I don't think that's for you to worry about," he replied, a deadpan expression on his face.

"With all due respect, sir, you brought me into this."

"And you've done your job. I'm sure you have other duties to attend to." His words seemed to be a dismissal, but they were not at the SGC now.

"I'm off duty, sir." She paused, not sure what to say, worried about what this man might do, what kind of trouble he could make for himself and, therefore, for the SGC.

Brightman did not know O'Neill well, although they had been building a kind of tenuous relationship. She knew he had respected and admired the late Janet Fraiser. In his mind, she still had a high mountain to climb before she could fill those shoes. But Brightman respected and admired O'Neill, something he probably was not even aware of. These feelings were born from both what she had experienced, and what she knew the other members of the SGC thought about him. The respect and admiration of his subordinates kind of rubbed off.

"If you need to talk, sir, my door is always open."

Jack smiled faintly. "I'll bear that in mind."

Brightman knew he would not take her up on that offer. Not now. Maybe in another few years, when she had gained his trust like Fraiser had. He had called her here, asked her for the favor, and that meant something, but it was only a small thing.

"I'd appreciate it if this incident stays off the record. I don't want people at the SGC to know," he said. O'Neill realised this was asking a lot. A doctor might get into trouble for that kind of thing, but Brightman seemed willing to risk it. Catherine was not armed forces, after all. This might be stretching a point, but it was a good point.

"Yes, sir. I'm a doctor. I'm good at keeping secrets." She sighed inwardly, frustrated by, but understanding, his silence. Brightman could see his fury bubbling under the surface and hoped he was able to suppress it in front of his girlfriend. However, she would not want to be walking in the shoes of her attacker. The man might be slime but she suspected the wrath of O'Neill could be something terrible to behold.

"I owe you one," he said. "A big one."

"And I'll bear that in mind, general" she responded, throwing his own words back at him.

He nodded an acknowledgment, certain that she would. O'Neill wondered what manner of payment he would have to make for this favor. No matter. He'd live with it. It seemed they had reached some kind of understanding and, for this, he was grateful. Calling Brightman has been the right choice to make; possibly the only one.

"She probably shouldn't be left alone for a while, sir. She's scared," the doctor warned.

"I'm not going anywhere, doc. Is there anything more I should do? Medically speaking that is."

"Be here when she wakes up. I hope she'll sleep for a while. Try to avoid giving her any other medication, although Tylenol should be okay if she needs something, and strictly no alcohol. Call me if you need to, but I'll drop by tomorrow to check on her. I'll call first."

'That just about covers it,' thought Jack. "Yes, ma'am," he said out loud. "And thanks."

"You're welcome, but don't make a habit of it, sir."

Her tone was formidable, reminding O'Neill of Janet. Perhaps all doctors are alike, the very good ones, anyway. For the first time, Jack realized he and Brightman would get along. Sure, they would have differences. This had been the case with Fraiser, both with him and Hammond. Probably it would likely always be so between an SGC commander and the base medics. In the end, Brightman was okay, one of his kinds of people – for a medical practitioner.

After she left, Jack picked up his still full glass of scotch, entering Catherine's bedroom and staring down at her for a long time while he nursed it. He wondered what kinds of nightmares she might have because of this experience. Hopefully, none for now. She appeared deeply asleep.

Pulling up a chair, he sat next to the bed so he could watch her. The rise and fall of her covers as she breathed were a comfort. Deep in thought about his deadly mixture of emotions, it was not until a little later that he remembered the drink in his hand and took a sip.

Grimacing, he placed the glass on her nightstand. Jack did not feel like drinking. He felt like lashing out at someone or something. O'Neill was pissed, but his thoughts of Catherine and his feelings for her tempered this anger. Those feelings were, of course, part of what made him pissed. Someone he cared deeply about had suffered and would probably continue to suffer for a while. It was like the anger he might feel if something bad happened to his team, probably multiplied by a factor of X. This was personal - very personal.

So Jack watched over Catherine protectively, his thoughts mainly dark and thunderous, with brighter patches between the grey clouds. And as he watched, he contemplated consequences, because O'Neill also planned his vengeance for Catherine, no matter what those consequences might be.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

Choices. Life is all about choices, and Jack was about to make another one. Whether it was a good or bad choice, he did not know, but he would live with it come what may. Picking up his cell phone, he looked up an emergency contact number he had for one of his team and called it. The phone rang a couple of times before the other end picked up.

"Shanahan," the voice on the other end said.

"This is Jack O'Neill." Jack could only imagine the look of stunned amazement on the other man's face, and he would not have been far wrong. The two men were not exactly best buddies. The cop irritated Jack for a number of reasons he did not even like to think about, and O'Neill was sure the feeling was mutual. "Can we meet? Today, and soon?"

'What the hell are you getting yourself into, O'Neill?' he thought as he rang off after having made suitable arrangements.

Aw, for crying out loud…

TBC


	9. Jack Seeks to Settle the Score

Title: Jack Seeks to Settle the Score

Content Warnings: Language, domestic violence and implied violence.

Spoilers: None

Summary: 'Selling your soul to the devil, O'Neill,' he thought, but he had considered that before making the call to Carter's fiance. The devil probably owned his ass already, so what difference did it make?

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2008 Su Freund

Author's Note:

1. Thanks very much Lynette (Flatkatsi) for reading this over and making those useful comments and suggestions that have improved on my original version of this chapter!

2. Patti pointed out that Brightman's failure to report a case of violence/abuse in chapter 8 is very likely a criminal act, as it is in many US states. I realized this was a possibility, which is why I emphasized what she was doing was wrong, but I have not found any absolute confirmation that this is the case in Colorado. Therefore, I do not explicitly state Brightman's actions are a criminal act in this story.

3. STC commented that the phrase "going to the can" is US teenage slang and of low class use. I totally accept that as a British author I might sometimes get UK/US English usage wrong (thank heavens for beta readers and US mail buddies to help me out with that!). Other sources assure me this slang phrase is in common usage in the US and it is feasible that military personnel would use it. On the basis that we are dealing with the military in SG stories, the slang used in fan fiction could probably be far more vulgar. I apologize if I have upset STC by using this phrase, although I doubt it will be the last time I do.

4. Thanks to Lynda for a notion about zats, which I refer to in this chapter.

5. Last but by no means least - thanks to all of you who have read and sent feedback for this story, I really appreciate it!

**Jack Seeks to Settle the Score**

Pete Shanahan was pissed. Seething internally, he sipped his latte and waited. Occasionally the detective glanced at the coffee shop door, followed by his watch, and softly sighed with impatience. Then he looked at the newspaper that lay sprawled out on the table in front of him, apparently reading in a casual manner. In fact, he neither read the paper nor felt particularly nonchalant. Pete just wanted it to seem that way.

Jack O'Neill was late for their appointment. It had been his idea to arrange this meeting, so Pete thought his tardiness was inappropriate and impolite. The cop could not envisage many circumstances in which he might instigate a meeting with O'Neill. If he ever did, Pete believed he would not be rude enough to turn up late. Consequently, he was pissed.

Shanahan kept thinking he did not have all day. He had work to do. Important work that he could probably carry out more effectively without interruptions to his day from Sam's commanding officer. Pete was not even certain he liked the man much anyway. He kept wondering how much time he should wait for the general to show up. Looking at his watch yet again, he sighed for the umpteenth time. Twenty minutes and counting. Talk about discourteous.

Pete had to admit he was very curious about this meeting, as well as somewhat on edge. What the hell could O'Neill want with him? He'd given it a great deal of thought and could only come to one conclusion. It had to be something to do with Sam. What else was there? Consequently, he was worried.

Sam herself had not given him any cause to worry about her, but here was O'Neill, bold as brass, apparently wanting to make nice with him. That was… odd, way off beam. His cop sense told him something was very wrong.

Just as Pete was thinking he would drink up and go, O'Neill sauntered in looking cool as ice. The detective watched closely as the man spotted him and walked over. He could not fail to notice that O'Neill seemed a little peaky. If you looked carefully, his skin tone had a slightly grey pallor under the tan and his facial features seemed to have additional lines etched into them. Shanahan was looking carefully. He was a cop and trained to observe.

As he pulled out a chair from under the table and sat down, O'Neill grunted a greeting.

"You're late," Pete commented coolly.

"So, sue me," O'Neill retorted in a snarky manner that made Pete bristle.

"You asked for this meeting," he snapped back.

Gesticulating in a conciliatory way, Jack sighed. "You're right, I'm sorry. Traffic," he explained.

Saved further comment by the swift appearance of a waitress, Jack ordered an extra strong blend of expresso, which his companion noted and added to his observations and assumptions about the general's current state of mind.

"Want another?" he asked the cop, pointing to the near empty cup, but Pete declined. Although he had almost finished the latte, he did not wish to feel more hyper than he already was. This meeting made him jittery enough without more caffeine to help him along.

O'Neill said nothing, which kind of irked Pete and increased his agitation. He had not anticipated the strong silent treatment from a man who had called and asked for this meeting. So, once the waitress brought their order and they had some privacy, he bluntly broke the uncomfortable silence.

"What's this about, O'Neill? Sam?"

"No," Jack responded tersely.

Shanahan looked at him with surprise. He'd been expecting a confrontation with O'Neill about Sam. Pete wasn't stupid. He knew the man had some feelings for his fiancee, and that there was a special relationship between Sam and her CO. He was not sure exactly what those feelings were and Pete believed what Sam said to him about comradeship and years working together as a team. Or at least he tried not to contemplate that there might be anything more to it.

Cops could develop similarly close relationships with their partners sometimes, so Pete got that. Nevertheless, O'Neill made him feel uneasy, as if he should be worried about something. So if the man did not want to see him about Sam, then what?

'A clam would be more open than this guy,' Pete thought wryly when O'Neill finally told him why he had called. The man was succinct to say the least. He simply asked the cop to help him find someone he wanted found. However, O'Neill was entirely unforthcoming about why he wanted to find this person, and why he was asking Pete to help him. The cop wondered what the general was not telling him. Probably plenty.

"Okay, so why can't you use your own resources to find this Rodgers guy?" Pete asked, needing more information about O'Neill's motives before he could consider doing the favor he asked. "You have people at the SGC who could do that don't you? And why do you want to find him?"

Jack eyed him with a glare that might have had some men either cowering in a corner or preparing for a fight. However, Shanahan was neither of those types of men. He was not easily rattled and certainly not quick to get into a brawl unless he had to. He knew better. O'Neill was unnerving and potentially deadly, Pete thought, but he had dealt with some truly bad assed, tough guys in his time.

"I don't want the SGC or the Air Force involved," Jack replied, failing to answer Pete's other nagging question.

"And why's that?" Jack did not respond and Shanahan gave him a withering look.

"Okay, we're done here," he said. "I'm not using police resources to trace this Peter Rodgers guy unless you tell me more, like why you want to find him."

He made a move to get up and Jack knew he had to back down, or at least to some extent. He badly needed this favor he was asking. Shanahan had contacts he lacked and could get the required information far quicker than he could on his own.

O'Neill knew he was playing a risky game. Sam's fiance was a cop and O'Neill needed this favor to stay off the record. As it was with Doctor Brightman, he realized it was asking a lot. The Doc had crossed a line for him and could be in all kinds of trouble if anyone found out.

Her failure to report such a crime was probably a crime in itself. Jack was not certain about this because laws vary from State to State and he was no expert. Whatever, the debt he owed Brightman was substantial because he thought it likely she could get into trouble with someone somewhere about what she had done – or failed to do. Jack would protect her. No one would ever find out. Catherine was not telling, and he certainly wasn't either.

Now, he was counting on the mutual connection with Carter, and that Shanahan would value his indebtedness. It was wrong and he knew it, and not only because he felt guilty about using Sam's friendship. Jack was not a legal genius or anything, but he figured he was probably asking Shanahan to commit a crime too, or certainly to break the rules in a big way and participate in a potential criminal act.

Shanahan could also get into a whole heap of trouble, but O'Neill had used far worse methods to attain his goals. If the cop helped, he would know what he was doing, just as Brightman had. Eyes wide open. O'Neill was not trying to dupe anyone.

"It's personal," Jack retorted. Pete nodded but said nothing, forcing Jack to continue. "It's Catherine."

"Catherine? Who's she?"

"I met her at your engagement party. Don't think you know her, though. She's my girlfriend." Jack winced at the use of that term. Girlfriend did not sound quite the right word to describe his relationship with Catherine. Lover? Partner? Whatever. Shanahan got the point. Still he said nothing, waiting for Jack's explanation.

When it came, that explanation was brief and to the point. Only the salient facts. Typical O'Neill. Pete sat back in his chair and pondered. He got it, sure he did. Although he did not say so directly, O'Neill was looking for vengeance, or restitution. Something. Anything. Pete understood that and knew he might feel the same way if anything like this happened to Sam, but he was a cop. He should uphold the law, not aid and abet the breaking of it, which is what he assumed O'Neill intended. On the other hand…

"You should report this," Pete commented, grimly. "That's what cops are for."

"Yeah, real hot on domestic violence," Jack replied tartly.

"I don't like guys who beat up women." Shanahan's tone was very serious and Jack detected some anger. The man was genuine. "In fact, I can't stand 'em. Scum of the earth."

"Now that's something we can agree on," Jack said with a wry smile. "But Catherine doesn't want cops involved. It's complicated."

"Ah! I see." Pete nodded thoughtfully. "These cases are always complicated. But we can't do much for her if she won't file a report, or testify."

"She'd probably kill me if she knew I was talking to a cop."

Shanahan nodded again, obviously contemplating the situation Jack had outlined so succinctly yet tellingly. "So, tell me something," he said after a lengthy pause. "If I get this information am I going to be helping you commit a felony?"

"You really want to know?" Jack replied, looking the cop firmly in the eye. Pete noted his steely and closed expression. "Come on, Shanahan. You might be a cop but do you really expect me to believe you are whiter than white?"

Pete grinned, and then chuckled. "No. But then I'm guessing you aren't either."

"I've done a few things I shouldn't be proud of, sure."

"You and me both, pal. You know I should report this, don't you? I'll be putting my neck on the line if I do this. And you… are you sure you want to take a chance on screwing with the Air Forces' reputation, General O'Neill? It's one hell of a risk."

He emphasized Jack's rank deliberately; a reminder of what O'Neill had to lose. Jack did not need to be reminded. He would take his chances, but would Shanahan? He did not respond to the question, but his unwavering expression gave Pete his answer.

"And if I help, what's in it for me?" Pete asked, steadily holding the older man's gaze.

Jack stared at him long and hard. "How about that I owe you a huge honkin' favor?" he suggested, hoping this was enough because he did not have much else he could offer that Shanahan might want. 'Selling your soul to the devil, O'Neill,' he thought, but he had considered that before making the call to Carter's fiance. The devil probably owned his ass already, so what difference did it make?

After some deliberation, Pete inclined his head in a way that seemed to indicate agreement. He thought this could be an extremely useful marker to hold. "Okay," he said. "But if something happens to this guy, I'll know where to start looking. I'm not totally screwing with my career just to do you a favor."

Jack merely shrugged. Shanahan could look all he liked but that did not mean he would find evidence, did it? He could know, but he would probably never prove anything. After all, if Shanahan helped him find Rodgers, he could hardly tell any of his fellow officers about it after the fact, could he? He would be an accessory to any crime Jack might commit so, as Shanahan had said, his own neck would be on the line.

The idea of borrowing a zat from the SGC had crossed Jack's mind. Pete Rodgers, a dark alley and a zat. It could be an efficient plan. No evidence, no Rodgers – ever! It still might come to that, but Jack leaned toward a hands on approach. He knew he should not use his training for his own purposes, but some people deserved a little pain and anguish in their lives. His conscience would be clear. No regrets. No guilt.

O'Neill believed the payback for this favor would probably be huge, but so worth it. He hoped Shanahan had the intelligence to use that debt wisely. Figured he would. Carter would never marry a guy with no brains.

"I'm not asking you to. Carter won't know anything about this, right?"

"Are you kidding?" Shanahan looked horrified at the very idea.

"Just checking. I don't want the SGC involved."

"Trying to protect them, huh? Very commendable, general. You think I'd want her to know?"

"Probably not."

"Shake on it?" Pete asked, holding out his hand. Jack returned the grasp firmly and Shanahan removed his cell phone from his jacket, making a couple of calls to set the wheels in motion.

"Will it take long?" O'Neill asked.

Pete shrugged, not able to answer that question with any accuracy. "I'll be in touch."

After watching Shanahan's retreating back disappear, Jack threw some money on the table and left. Catherine had a friend with her, but he had to return. He had to be there for her.

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Catherine seemed to be okay… ish. She tried to be her normal self but Jack saw right through it. She was more subdued and introspective. She still had not revealed the details of what had happened and Jack could relate to her reticence, even if it also drove him nuts. Her insistence that she was fine gave him cause to wonder. He must drive his team crazy when he continued to insist he was fine although they knew he was not.

In terms of injuries, Catherine ached and was stiff, while the black and blue tones of bruising covered vast swathes of her body. One side of her face had swollen up and looked very painful. As with all these things, it would seem worse before it got better. Doc Brightman appeared to think she was doing all right.

Jack worried most about what might be going on inside her head. That was way harder to get a handle on. He figured Rodgers could probably have done far more physical damage if he had wanted, even though Catherine tried to fight him off. So, Jack wondered if her ex's true purpose had more to do playing a psychological game than causing physical harm. That is what bullies do, right? Rule through terror. Occasionally, they simply need to keep the terror fresh in the mind by showing they mean it.

Jack did not leave Catherine's apartment for two days. She seemed to have enough food in the place to fend off a siege, so he did not even need to go shopping. He stayed close and was there when she needed him. When she insisted on time alone, he occupied himself with something else, refusing to leave her on her own at the scene of her attack.

Then he persuaded her to call a friend and she agreed. Mary Jones was a fellow art tutor at the college and the two women were relatively close. She appeared a little older than Catherine and a friendly, warm kind of woman. Jack hoped Catherine might confide in her what she would not reveal to him. Women could be like that, which was fair enough in his book, albeit frustrating.

Mary's presence also gave him the opportunity to escape, to contact Shanahan and meet him without feeling bad about leaving Catherine.

When he returned to the apartment, Catherine was sitting alone on her couch seemingly reading a book. She welcomed him with a smile and Jack approached, returning the greeting with an affectionate peck on the top of her head.

"Where's Mary?" he asked.

"Gone home."

Jack's initial ire quickly turned to concern. "For crying out loud, you shouldn't be left by yourself right now."

Catherine stared at him silently for a moment and then she indicated he should come and sit next to her on the couch. Jack acquiesced. She knew he was unhappy that Mary had left before he got back, but she had insisted her friend go. Catherine wanted some quiet time with no one around to make a fuss. She needed that time to herself.

At first, she went to survey the mess in her studio, which was not as bad as she imagined. It was obvious Jack had spent some time clearing up. To be honest, she was relieved. There was still some work to do, and it would take a while to sort out her paints and equipment in the way she wanted. However, Jack had done pretty well and tamed the worst of the chaos.

He had stacked her vandalized art works in a corner and these she would mourn. Something of Catherine went into each of them and the loss was painful. No doubt, this was a willful act designed to cause grief. The damage Pete had inflicted on Jack's portrait was particularly devastating, perhaps prompted by jealousy, but certainly hatred. The painting meant a lot to Catherine just as the man himself did. It was part of them and had brought them closer. Now it was in shreds.

Jack might be right that she could paint another. She could paint all of them again if she wished. But they were irreplaceable because the spirit and inspiration of Catherine that each one contained was unique.

As she examined the studio, Catherine realized she did not have the heart, energy or physical ability to sort it out right then. The pain from Pete's beating hampered her movements, the loss of her work was depressing, and the room brought back too many nightmarish images of her ex-husband's attack. Therefore, she returned to the living room, found a book and started to read. She hoped to wallow in fantasy to distract her from those horrendous events. It worked. For a while.

Now, she placed a hand on Jack's lower thigh and gave it a small squeeze. "You can't stay here forever," she said. Jack opened his mouth to speak but she got in first. "I'm used to living alone."

He regarded her seriously for a while before speaking. "I don't like leaving you on your own. I thought you were afraid he would come back. I'm worried about you."

"I know, but this place is secure enough. I let him in, remember. He didn't break down the door or anything. I can't let Pete terrorize me into changing my life. I let him get away with that for way too long already." She took Jack's hand in hers. Catherine knew he cared about her. She appreciated his concern, but she had her own life to lead and so did Jack.

"You don't need to do this by yourself," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek lightly.

"Yes I do. I need for you to go home. I need to take my life back." The words tumbled out more bluntly than she intended and Jack was clearly shocked and hurt. She captured his eyes, hoping to make her meaning clearer, and started to stroke his hand with her thumb.

"I can't just leave…" he started to reply with a sinking heart.

"I don't want you to take this the wrong way, Jack. I know you're here for me. So if you go I'm not truly alone, am I? I can call you. You can come over. I've been here before and I got through it. I'm fine."

He looked disbelieving. "You say that, but…"

"I fought back," she interrupted. "I never did that while I was still with Pete. I just plucked up enough courage to leave is all. That I fought back means a lot to me. You couldn't possibly understand, but I'll be okay. I need it to be this way, Jack. Please."

Her eyes begged him to understand and he did, at least to some extent. Jack tended to want solitude for this kind of thing too, recovery and recuperation from pain, licking old and new wounds. Having friends around could help sometimes, sure, but when the chips are down you are responsible for your own life.

How many times had he rejected the comfort offered by friends? The answer was many. So he kind of got it, but the rejection hurt. Once again, it made him wonder how his friends felt when he did this to them. And he was far less gentle and kind about it than Catherine was being with him.

"Okay, I'll go," he agreed after some thought. His hurt tone worried Catherine and when he started to get up immediately, she clung to his hand, which suggested he should sit again.

"I didn't mean right now, flyboy," she said lightheartedly, hoping to counteract some of the pain she realized she had caused. "I could do with a Jack cuddle." She smiled, although her swollen cheek smarted at the action.

Jack flopped back onto the couch and returned the smile. He waseHe thinking she was beautiful despite the bruises. Inside she was even more beautiful. 'Lucky, lucky, lucky man, Jack,' he thought.

"Yes, ma'am," he said, carefully draping an arm around her shoulders. A real embrace would probably be out of the question for a few more days at least. Nevertheless, Catherine sighed contentedly.

"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings," she said in a soft and affectionate tone.

"You didn't," he lied.

"Yes I did. You can't hide your feelings from me, Jack." This gave him pause to ponder.

"I can't?" he queried a little too cheerily while he considered the implication. He was not at all sure he liked that notion. Jack was used to hiding and suppressing. Was he giving too much away to Catherine?

"I'm guessing you find that thought a little discomforting, huh?" she asked, trying to search his eyes. However, he did not meet her enquiring gaze, instead looking somewhere toward his feet and remaining silent. The fingers of his free hand drummed on his thigh in a fidgety manner. Catherine had noticed this trait of Jack's. It often denoted his awkwardness, but still calm would have been worse. "Does what I see in you freak you out, Jack?"

He raised his eyes to meet hers at last. "Maybe a little," he admitted. "Sometimes."

"Are we getting too close for comfort?" she asked searchingly.

Jack gulped, the heat of her gaze adding to his unease. He paused for the longest moment before responding with disarming honesty. "Sometimes I think so." He wanted to tear his eyes away from hers but found he could not.

"Sometimes I think so too," she agreed.

"Right." Now he looked away, uncertain how to respond. He was not sure what all this meant.

"It's okay to think that, isn't it?" she asked.

"I guess…" He bit his bottom lip, still filled with uncertainty. "I'm not sure where you're going with this," he confessed.

"Trying to figure out what you feel."

Briefly, Jack wondered if she was anticipating a declaration of love. Now was a moment he could have made use of those three little words, but he did not because he could not.

"So you don't know everything I'm thinking, then?" he replied in a jocular way, pulling his eyes away from her thrall at last.

She laughed lightly but her response was far more serious. "I'm crazy about you, Jack O'Neill, but that doesn't mean I'm sure about anything."

"Crazy about me?" Jack grinned cheekily, still trying to keep the tone light, although he felt extremely pleased and flattered. He glanced at her for a moment but his eyes quickly started to roam the room. "That's good, right…? Or not…" His demeanor was self-deprecating.

"Yeah, it's good." She cuddled up closer to him, keeping his hand gently clasped in hers, but making use of her other hand to smooth it over his chest.

"But that doesn't mean you are sure about anything," he stated, quoting her words and prompting her to say more.

"No. But life is full of uncertainties, isn't it? That doesn't diminish my feelings for you."

Once again, Jack considered her words for a while before replying. He still was not certain what she was driving at, only that she seemed as unwilling to commit as he was, even while she obviously liked him a whole heck of a lot. This provided a kind of perverse comfort. It was fine by him. They did not have to fix anything in concrete right now. They had plenty of time to figure it all out.

His restless hand softly grasped her chin, and they locked eyes. "Yeah, well don't tell anyone, but I'm crazy about you too." Although his tone was lighthearted, Catherine knew he meant it. Jack never said things he did not mean.

"It's all good then," she responded with a faint smile.

"Is it?" he asked, gently smoothing his fingers over her uninjured cheek.

"Sure."

"Right." He looked and felt a little dubious but her hand continued to smooth over his shirt reassuringly. She briefly kissed his neck and then rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'd like you to stay with me tonight," she said. "Is that okay?"

"You know it is. And I should leave in the morning?"

She nodded and Jack found himself thinking he was okay with that. In fact, leaving might fit in neatly with his plans. But he was still wondering exactly what had just happened?

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"Well, that's a little odd, don't you think?" Daniel said when Jack did not respond to their knock on his door. He glanced at Teal'c, placing the crate of beer they had brought on the ground. "I'll go check round the back."

"Colonel Carter has arrived," Teal' said, stopping Daniel in his tracks.

"What's up guys?" she asked as she leapt out of her car.

"Jack doesn't seem to be here. I was just gonna check round the back."

Carter looked at him in surprise, paused thoughtfully for a moment, and then pulled out a small gun. "I'll go."

Daniel regarded her with astonishment. "Do you always carry one of those things to parties with friends?"

"Be prepared… You never know," she said with a wink, cautiously edging her way along the side of O'Neill's house. "Wait here." Teal'c moved to follow, but Daniel placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"She'll be fine. Let's wait. It's probably nothing," he said and Teal'c bowed his head in agreement.

A couple of minutes later Carter returned. "No sign of life, no barbeque blazing away in the yard, no nothing."

"Think you should do your thing with the lock?" Daniel asked, looking around to check if anyone seemed to be watching.

"I'm not sure the general would appreciate that," Sam said dubiously.

"Something's wrong, Sam, and we all know it. He is expecting us today, isn't he? We haven't got our dates mixed up?" Sam shook her head and Teal'c inclined his head to agree. "Then he must be in trouble."

She stared him thoughtfully for a while and then nodded. "You're right. This barbeque might seem ill-fated, but if he had to cancel again surely he would have let one of us know." Extracting her lock picks from her pocket, Carter inserted them in O'Neill's lock and had the door open within a few seconds. "He really ought to make this place more secure. You never know who might drop by," she commented.

The three friends cautiously searched the house only to find the cupboard bare.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Daniel, looking over the kitchen and popping his head around Jack's fridge door. "No food, at least no barbeque type food."

"This is indeed a puzzle," Teal'c said. "We must telephone the SGC. Perhaps they have heard from him."

"Maybe we should try his cell phone first," Daniel piped up, removing his phone from a pocket and pressing the speed dial. The call remained unanswered and his frown deepened, his brow furrowing into dark grooves of concern. "Damn it!" he cursed, hanging up and pressing the speed dial for an entirely different number located within the bowels of Cheyenne Mountain.

As far the duty officer was concerned, the general was at home and contactable on that phone or his cell. No one at the SGC had heard from him. Jack's ex-teammates exchanged worried looks.

"What about Catherine? Maybe he's there. Anyone got her number?" Sam asked doubtfully. It seemed unlikely O'Neill would have divulged that type of personal information to any of them.

"Shouldn't the SGC have that number for when he's there?" Daniel suggested. "Anyway, he'd have his cell phone with him, wouldn't he? He'd pick it up."

Daniel did not see Teal'c eye him with a doubtful expression, and the Jaffa did not pursue the issue of whether or not O'Neill always answered his phone.

"Is not the purpose of this gathering to meet this woman, Catherine?" he queried instead. "In which case she should be here, should she not?"

"Um… good point," Sam agreed. "So where are they?"

"Indeed."

The three friends exchanged anxious looks, wondering what to do next.

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Johnny James knew his mom would be angry with him if she discovered he had snuck out of the house when she was not there. She would never find out, he would make sure of that. He would be home well before she got there.

Technically, his mother should not have left little Johnny alone. He was too young. But she was a single mom whose husband had left her when Johnny was a baby, and she was trying her best to raise a kid by herself. Mrs James had to work and right now she was waiting tables at a restaurant a couple of blocks away. She would not return to their apartment until well past midnight.

Mrs James left little Johnny to supervise himself quite a lot. For him, it could be kind of fun sometimes, but was often a lonely and boring occupation. She had told him about leaving the apartment on his own, particularly at night. She had warned him about the dangerous dark. Johnny knew all of that, but it did not deter him from sneaking out sometimes, especially when he was bored. Besides, it was only just getting dark now, wasn't it? It had still been light when he left the apartment.

Johnny was playing cops and robbers with invisible friends, and pressed his back against the wall before thinking about entering the alley, just like he had seen cops do on TV. His little plastic gun was at the ready as he scoped the alley from that vantage point, looking for his foes.

The alley was a block from his apartment and Johnny loved playing cop there. Even in daylight, the place was forbidding. Large trashcans lined the narrow passageway and overflowed their dubious contents onto the ground. People in the neighborhood dumped assorted unsavory things down there, from broken old furniture and bottles to used needles and worse. Dogs roamed the alley dumping their unsavory things down there too, and it had frequently played host as the temporary home of the homeless

It smelled like the rarely deodorized armpits of the universe. Just the kind of place Johnny thought appropriate for his cop games – appropriately menacing like he watched on TV. The young boy would have denied he was scared. He was brave and tough. Or so he liked to pretend, which was one reason the dank, smelly place attracted him.

His mom would kill him if she knew. She'd probably ground him for life, or at least a few days, which would seem like a lifetime to the active young boy.

Discerning no immediate threat, he signaled silently to an imaginary cop colleague and broke out from hiding, running cautiously and quietly down the alley and hiding here and there along the way. Once again, he imitated what he had seen many times on TV. One of these days, he would do this for real. His life ambition was to be a cop and he could not wait until he was old enough. But that would be many years in his future. For now, all he could do was fake it.

Johnny was hiding behind one of the large trash cans when he saw them - three men dumping something large in amongst the rest of the trash while a fourth man looked on. Johnny watched carefully, wondering what they were doing. Were these real bad guys?

There was sufficient light to illuminate their faces clearly, and he burned them to memory. They looked like hoods to him, but even in his guise as the brilliant and strong Detective Johnny James of Colorado Springs PD – JJ to his fellow cops down at the Precinct - he did not confront them. Johnny knew better despite his fantasies.

So he watched them leave, noting the number plate of their truck in his prodigious memory banks. Then Johnny stayed where he was for a while to ensure they really had gone before he carefully tiptoed out of his hiding place to go look at what they had dumped in his alley.

Gasping at what he discovered, Johnny was suddenly afraid. Lying prostrate amongst the trash was a very battered and bloody man. He knew he had to call the police, possibly an ambulance, although he figured it might be a little late for paramedics. The man looked dead. Not that Johnny had ever seen a real dead person. All he could go on was what he had seen on TV.

Shit! Boy was his mom going to be pissed. She was bound to find out about his antics now. Johnny could have left the man where he was, failed to call it in. His mother would never find out then. But he could not bring himself to do that. He wanted to be a cop right? Leaving this poor guy just lying there was not a cop like thing to do.

So he ran like the wind back to his apartment to make the call. Then he returned to the scene of the crime to wait for the police to arrive. That would be exciting. He would be an important witness. He had seen the men who did this. He could identify them. His mom would be none too happy about that, he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he would get to see first hand how the cops really worked a case. Cool!

As he watched, he realized the man was still breathing. Shallowly, it seemed, from the limited rise and fall motion of his chest, but he was alive and not dead after all. Johnny sure hoped the paramedics got there in time to save him. He'd be a hero. His imaginative young mind started ranging around medals and citations, the Mayor shaking his hand, his picture in the paper. Wowie!

And whilst young Johnny stood vigil over the injured man waiting for the cops to arrive, the unconscious man struggled to take his next breath.

TBC


	10. Jack's Retribution

Jacks Retribution

Title: Jack's Retribution

Category: Angst/Romance/Drama

Content Level: Age 13+

Content Warnings: Themes of domestic and other violence. Language.

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine), Sam/Pete

Season: 8

Spoilers: None

Summary: "The first vaguely lucid thought the man had was about pain. He hurt everywhere."

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2008 Su Freund

Author's Notes:

1. I am sorry I kept you all waiting for this chapter. Important and urgent real life issues kept me away from the fantasy for longer than I would have wished. I don't normally like to leave readers hanging on the edge of that cliff for too long, lol! But, it was unavoidable. Thank you for reading and feeding back on this story, and for your patience. I hope this is worth the wait.

2. I am eternally grateful to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for beta reading this story and making so many insightful comments/suggestions. Because of her excellent instincts about fic writing, and her helpfully exacting standards, I almost totally revised the chapter. Then she beta read it again! What follows is a great improvement on my original version. Any remaining errors are entirely mine.

3. Thanks also to ImmerRDA and Livi for some useful advice that made me think again about something I had written in this chapter. Good call!

4. Since I posted the previous chapter, I have received confirmation from a mail buddy that medical professionals throughout the US are obliged to report incidents of abuse to the authorities. This applies in all cases, whether it's child, elderly adult or spousal/ex-spousal abuse. Failure to do so can result in the loss of a license to practice medicine. Thank you Denise Carlson for the heads up. It may or may not come up again in the story, only my muse and time can tell, but at least I know!

**Jack's Retribution**

_Previously:_

Gasping at what he discovered, Johnny was suddenly afraid. Lying prostrate amongst the trash was a very battered and bloody man. He knew he had to call the police, possibly an ambulance, although he figured it might be a little late for paramedics. The man looked dead. Not that Johnny had ever seen a real dead person. All he could go on was what he had seen on TV.

Shit! Boy was his mom going to be pissed. She was bound to find out about his antics now. Johnny could have left the man where he was, failed to call it in. His mother would never find out then. But he could not bring himself to do that. He wanted to be a cop right? Leaving this poor guy just lying there was not a cop like thing to do.

So he ran like the wind back to his apartment to make the call. Then he returned to the scene of the crime to wait for the police to arrive. That would be exciting. He would be an important witness. He had seen the men who did this. He could identify them. His mom would be none too happy about that, he thought. Maybe, just maybe, he would get to see first hand how the cops really worked a case. Cool!

As he watched, he realized the man was still breathing. Shallowly, it seemed, from the limited rise and fall motion of his chest, but he was alive and not dead after all. Johnny sure hoped the paramedics got there in time to save him. He'd be a hero. His imaginative young mind started ranging around medals and citations, the Mayor shaking his hand, his picture in the paper. Wowie!

And whilst young Johnny stood vigil over the injured man waiting for the cops to arrive, the unconscious man struggled to take his next breath.

_The story continues:_

As usual for a Saturday night, the hospital's Emergency Department was chaotic. With surprising deftness, the many people busily milling around avoided bumping into each other most of the time. There was a loud hubbub of background noise - spoken words, sobs, cries and moans, the bleeping of equipment, the sound of sirens.

Paramedics crashed through the door pushing a gurney and a number of staff hurried to assist. The man on the gurney looked like a train wreck, severely beaten, dark bruises starting to form over his face and body, clothing spattered with blood. They rushed him through the throng while a paramedic quickly summed up the patient's status and what treatment he had received so far. They had identified a couple of fractured ribs, a punctured lung, probable concussion and internal bleeding, as well as the external damage.

A police officer accompanied them on the journey, listening intently so he could add anything new to his report, and hoping the injured man would recover sufficiently to talk to him about the crime.

"A kid found him in an alley and called it in to the cops," the paramedic said. "This guy is lucky. If the boy hadn't found him, the internal bleeding might have killed him real quick."

"Any ID?" asked a nurse.

"Yeah, we found this," replied the cop, handing her something. Her eyes widened with alarm as she stared at the ID.

"Okay. We'd better call this in," she said, handing it back to the cop.

"We've already done that, ma'am," he replied and the nurse briefly glanced at him in acknowledgement before looking toward the patient.

"Can you hear me, sir?"

The man had been slipping in and out of consciousness ever since young Johnny James had discovered his prostrate body, but he managed to squint at the nurse through increasingly swelling eyes. Barely conscious now, his vision was blurred and it seemed like two identical nurses were peering at him searchingly. Their voices seemed to reverberate inside his head.

The first vaguely lucid thought the man had was about pain. He hurt everywhere. His throbbing head felt like it was about to rip open and spit his brains out.

'What was the question again?' he thought, but if he had spoken aloud, the words would have been unintelligible. Taking a ragged breath, he tried to steady himself sufficiently to frame an inquiry. Unable to think straight, it took grueling effort to formulate his question.

"Wh'… 'm I?" he asked in a rasping, breathless voice. Attempting to speak was excruciating as well as arduous. Fresh blood bubbled on his lips, adding a bright red layer to the dried dark brownish red caking his mouth. His words were scarcely intelligible but the nurse understood him well enough.

"Hospital. We've got you. You'll be all right now." The nurse tried to be reassuring, although she was not at all certain that he would be okay.

"Wha…" he started, overexerting himself further in his struggle to speak again.

He narrowed his eyes as if trying to focus and the nurse matter of factly noted his slurred speech and confused manner. It seemed speaking was hard work and he obviously had no idea what was happening. Concussion, just as the paramedic suspected, but that might be the least of his problems.

"Wha… happ…?" he said, trying once more. Somewhat foolishly in the circumstances, he tried to lift his head and was rewarded with a spell of dizziness that forced him to lower it again way too quickly. The resulting nausea made him heave, although he came up empty of vomit, instead gurgling more bright red blood from his lips and causing a shockwave of severe agony to engulf him. He coughed blood for a short spell and groaned, feeling wretched.

"You're in good hands, sir," the nurse replied calmly. "Don't try talking."

"Wh… am…?" he said in another vain attempt to communicate, but his words were incoherent and he faded out, eyes glazing over. Then his eyelids fluttered momentarily before closing.

"General? General O'Neill?" the nurse encouraged gently, but Jack was out cold.

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_A set up. A trap. _

_Grabbing hands, coming out of nowhere. Many hands, coming up behind him, catching him off guard. No chance. Too many, too quickly, too much of a surprise. Something hard hitting head. Falling. Fists and feet. Lots of fists and feet. _

_Truck. Smelled of something… something real bad that made him sick. Acrid stench. Probably contents of stomach._

_Dragged over hard concrete. More fists, more feet. Pain. Lots and lots of pain. Had worse, but still hurt like hell. _

_Sniggering. Laughing. Leering. Taunting. Warning. _

_Hot breath. Sneering. Hitting. Punching. Too many hands. Too many fists. _

_Oblivion…_

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The tall, swarthy man ran fingers through short wiry black hair and sucked in a breath, ticking items off his mental inventory to ensure he had all the bases covered. His chiseled features appeared unruffled, but that calm outward demeanor belied his tumultuous emotions.

His CO was in trouble and that meant he was not a happy camper. Not at all. But it was Jesse Ellis' job to ensure everything ran as smoothly as he could make it run, no matter what. He was not on his home turf of the SGC, but that was irrelevant. He refused point blank to let Jack O'Neill down under any circumstances.

Ellis would do his job and do it well because O'Neill merited whatever support he required. The general had earned it. Almost any member of the SGC would offer the same. Most of the people working in Cheyenne Mountain regarded O'Neill very highly. Elsewhere too, if it came down to that.

Jesse greatly liked and admired the general and was fiercely loyal to his CO. He would do anything for him and that literally meant anything. These feelings made it hard to be dispassionate when he knew O'Neill was badly injured and there was still so much uncertainty about his physical condition. He could do nothing to help his boss in that respect, however, so he was doing whatever he could.

The good-looking colonel had better cause than many to feel this way about his CO. As the general's Executive Officer, Jesse Ellis worked very closely with Jack O'Neill. He was an excellent XO too. O'Neill had said so many times. He was a fixer – could talk almost anybody into almost anything – and he was sharp, organized and possessed a prodigious memory.

O'Neill envied his golden tongue. For crying out loud, the man was not even Irish but he was blessed with the gift of the blarney. It did not seem right or fair to a man like Jack who was descended from good Irish stock and who considered himself inarticulate. Not that he really was. He just thought so.

Ellis had joined the SGC a couple of years previously. Injured in Iraq, the medics declared him unfit as a pilot, which depressed him enormously for a long time. He had enjoyed the excitement and rough and tumble of flying and field ops - the adrenaline rush and the comradeship of his unit. He was good at it.

For a while back then it had seemed like he might end up with a medical discharge he did not want. As it turned out, however, medics declared Jesse fit enough for lighter, non-combat duties and he was far more than just a good field officer. His administrative skills were as excellent as his soldiering ones, and he was simply the best at running interference for his boss. The armed forces needed men like him so Ellis stayed in the Air Force.

Despite his proficiency, Jesse hated the desk job and seriously considered retiring anyway. Then someone recommended his skills to their old friend George Hammond. Jack inherited him. His work at the SGC, and Generals Hammond and O'Neill, made riding a desk seem worthwhile. Jesse had a cause, and people he respected who needed his help. It was like getting a new lease of life.

O'Neill felt for the guy. He was probably never going to get through that Stargate he worked so closely with. He also knew his XO would not appreciate pity any more than he would, therefore never told him so.

From everything O'Neill knew about the man, he figured Ellis would have made a darned fine SG team leader. The pair got along well, which was a very good thing in Jack's book. Jesse could deal admirably with anything Jack threw at him, including any dark mood he might happen to have - water off a duck's back. The colonel just got on with his job and did what he knew needed doing. Jesse soon got the knack of second guessing his CO, and more often than not was right.

Ellis was a phlegmatic kind of guy, calm under pressure. He had a slightly off-kilter sense of humor Jack appreciated. Like Jack, his military record was somewhat checkered. He had been lucky enough to encounter commanding officers who tolerated his occasional defiance because he was good at what he did, and often proved right. Also like Jack, he was divorced. Unlike his CO, however, he had two fantastic kids and an ex-wife who accepted him as a friend and shared their care. Overall, therefore, he was a contented man despite that he was grounded and would never see combat again.

The man was a charmer. He had a certain something that was appealing to many, although he made the occasional enemy. This was something else Jesse shared with O'Neill, although Jack was oblivious to the similarity.

Right now, Ellis was bemoaning the fact that his CO had been admitted to this hospital rather than a military environment. The location was not secure and he did not feel in total control. O'Neill might be under threat and no way was anyone going to harm a hair on his CO's head. Not on his watch. No sirree.

The man was a general in the USAF, for heaven's sake. Generals deserve to be treated with respect, not to have the shit kicked out of them by any one who takes such an un-American thing into their head. Jesse was a little gung-ho about stuff like that. No good for nothings or enemies of the state were gonna harm his CO. He almost took it as a personal affront.

No one yet knew any detail about how or why this had happened to the general but until Jesse Ellis understood what the hell was going on, he would ensure his people protected O'Neill day and night. Jesse was doing his best. It was as much as he could do.

The hospital was crawling with people who had an interest in the attack on O'Neill - police, military, Feds. All of them concerned about the general's welfare and what this attack implied for security, national or otherwise. O'Neill was an important man and anything that happened to him provoked much interest from various agencies. A White House staffer had already been on the phone, tasked with keeping the general's Commander in Chief informed of any developments.

Jesse was running interference, as usual, and doing a fine job of keeping all of these interests under control, as well as dealing with the hospital authorities and staff. He was determined to keep his fingers on the pulse.

The hospital's powers that be were not 100 happy about these military and government types invading their well run establishment. Ellis was attempting to keep them happy, placating them and keeping as many people as possible out of their way while also getting what he wanted. He made a lot of promises to a lot of people to get them out of his hair for a while. It was a tough job but someone had to do it and no one could have done it better than Colonel Jesse Ellis. O'Neill would have been proud.

Jesse organized that a separate waiting room be available for "his" people and ensured they stayed put as much as possible. He posted a couple of SFs in the room and ordered them to be unobtrusive. To the casual observer they might not have appeared to be on guard, but that was their job. When someone left the room, one of them followed to keep a watchful eye. The room's occupants quickly took the hint. Whether they liked it or not, they were stuck with it. The colonel had his skittish livestock well corralled.

Meanwhile, Ellis was currently the only person in the general's entourage who had the run of the hospital and he constantly popped back and forth to keep the rest of O'Neill's camp followers informed of developments. Keep 'em happy, he thought, and peace might follow, at least for a while.

Now, he was waiting in reception for Doctor Brightman to arrive. Some medical issues back at the SGC had delayed her but she was due soon. Jesse wanted her professional support to help him deal with and understand the medical side of things. He needed more clarity because his lack of knowledge and expertise made him feel exposed. Jesse figured this made the general more vulnerable too, something he could not tolerate.

The colonel winced slightly as he saw the other three original members of SG-1 enter the hospital reception. These people would have genuine concerns for Jack O'Neill the man, not simply the Commander of the SGC and a general in the USAF. Jesse knew they would be more worried and upset than most of the people he had dealt with so far because O'Neill was their friend. Their possible reactions to this situation bothered him and he could see deep concern written all over them as they spotted him and approached.

"How is he? What the hell happened?" Carter asked, clearly agitated.

Jesse knew there was a special bond between O'Neill and his former team mates. Hell, everyone at the SGC knew it. He had only been at the SGC for a couple of years, so came in at the tail end of the original SG-1's glory days, but Jesse picked up on that real quick. The 1 was in SG-1 for good reason.

When he first arrived at the SGC, there were rumors about O'Neill and Carter too - that they had the kind of relationship they should not. Jesse had never believed it. If George Hammond had faith then so did he. Like O'Neill, Hammond was a man he admired. He was a general who knew precisely what he was doing and had his finger on the pulse of his subordinates.

Sure, O'Neill could be a maverick, a trait Ellis liked as it reminded him of himself. That unconventional streak was one of the things that made O'Neill a singular kind of SGC commander. The SGC required a special kind of something, not just the also ran type of military officer. However, neither O'Neill nor Carter would breech the regs by having an illicit affair, even though anyone with two eyes in their head could see they shared that special SG-1 bond.

If for no other reason than the fact O'Neill would never risk someone else's career just to get his rocks off, that kind of breech was never going to happen. It simply was not Jack O'Neill's style, and Jesse did not believe it was Samantha Carter's either.

Then Carter got engaged and everyone knew about O'Neill and the society dame because of the newspaper article that appeared while Jesse was on vacation. Some folk even went so far as to suggest both these relationships were a cover for O'Neill and Carter's fling. Jesse had heard this ridiculous gossip, though most people would not dare to repeat it to him directly because he would give them short shrift. He had his sources. Walter Harriman seemed to know almost everything that happened at the SGC and so Ellis found out too. Harriman was a good man to have on side.

These fleeting thoughts reminded the colonel of something he had forgotten and he sighed inwardly at himself for being such an ass. Making a mental note to call O'Neill's girlfriend, he started to answer Carter's questions. As succinctly as possible, he explained what he knew about how O'Neill had obtained his injuries. It was not nearly as much as Jesse wished he knew and he could see they wished he knew more too.

As he offered what details he had, the team mates exchanged dismayed looks and displayed body language signals that spoke many volumes they did not verbalize. The gist was, however, clear. Even the Jaffa showed a modicum of anguish on his frequently unreadable and stoic features. Their agitation was contagious and the normally phlegmatic Colonel Ellis did not need or want to catch it. He had to keep cool or he could not do his job effectively. So, he steeled himself against it and tried to remain dispassionate.

"Is he going to be okay? How bad is it? Have you seen him?" Daniel asked, his words tumbling out in a rapid jumble.

Ellis grimaced. Apart from the police, he was the first of the O'Neill entourage to arrive at the hospital and he saw the general for a moment as they wheeled him into the operating theater. He looked awful and was out of it.

"Briefly. He looks bad," he replied bluntly. "They're operating. Internal bleeding, maybe a ruptured spleen but they aren't sure. Collapsed lung, concussion, cracked ribs, bruised... well, you get the picture." He shrugged helplessly and his mask slipped, showing apprehension in his features for the first time. "I'm betting he's seen worse, but... they'll keep me informed."

Teal'c remained silent, looking thoughtful, but the other two started talking at once, asking O'Neill's XO questions to which he did not have answers. He gestured for calm.

"Look, I realize you want answers, we all do, but I'm telling you just about as much as I know. We'll get the answers, believe me, but these things take time. I need you to be patient."

"Patient?" Carter snapped angrily, her whole demeanor a mass of pent up frustration and tension. "That's all right for you to say!" Jesse resented the implication that he did not give a damn like they did.

"Colonel… Sam… please," Jesse replied coolly. "We all want him to pull through. I wish I could reassure you, but I can't. I care about him too."

Sam came close to retorting heatedly again, but she caught a look in Ellis' eyes. A plea for restraint, and something else. Something that belied the XO's unflappable outward appearance. The man was right. He did care, deeply it seemed, but he had a job to do. Her tension uncoiled slightly as she considered Ellis' position and she reached forward to grasp his arm sympathetically.

"I'm sorry, Jesse," she said in a considerate and contrite tone. He noticed tears forming in her eyes and saw the moment she fought and gained self-control, sniffing them back to where they belonged. "We know he means a lot to you too, but…" She was trying hard to bury her obvious fretfulness beneath a businesslike military persona. It worked – in part. Jesse admired the attempt, realizing it was not easy.

"I know," he replied understandingly. "I get it, Sam. I wish…" He shrugged, not sure how to react or what to say. An unusual situation for the slightly younger man, who usually found the right words for almost any situation. That gift of the blarney he knew O'Neill referred to frequently. Frankly, faced with SG-1 and their palpable concern, he seemed to be fresh out.

Daniel Jackson had a reputation for pushing boundaries, sometimes a little too far, but now he seemed to pick up on the vibe from his team leader. "Was he conscious?" he asked more evenly than before. A question Ellis could answer.

"Barely. Not when I saw him. In and out of it, I'm told. More out than in. Not making much sense. Delirious and confused. The concussion..." Ellis trailed off, wishing there was more he could tell them. "I don't know, and it's kind of pissing me off."

He sighed almost dramatically, Carter thought. He was worried and if Jesse was worried, she was too. Not that she needed his mood to influence hers. She was upset enough in her own right. However, the colonel was not the worrying type. Normally, he just got on with things, no fuss, no dramatics. His unease therefore rubbed off on her. If he had known, Jesse would have thought that ironic given he believed SG-1's disquiet was rubbing off on him. They were all a little jittery, it seemed, and with good cause.

SG-1 had been through similar scenarios many times with O'Neill. He was always getting injured and poked full of holes by alien types, but they had not anticipated it happening in their own back yard.

"Crap!" Sam cursed under her breath. Noting Jesse's heavy sigh and the way he rubbed his fingers in his eyes, she realized he was feeling the strain. Squeezing his arm compassionately, she searched his eyes. "Jesse, are you all right?"

"Sure," he lied. Carter knew it was a lie but did not call him on it. Instead, she dropped her hand back to her side and said nothing.

"Jack's tough," Daniel inserted, catching the mood again.

Ellis smiled faintly. "I know. I just hate not being in control. The staff are trying to be helpful but... security in this place is shit, and setting some up was a major headache. They don't like us tramping all over their turf. I told them the Commander in Chief and the Government of these United States takes a dim view of someone attempting to murder one of their generals. National security might be at stake, all of that. I think they got the message. Two armed SFs are guarding the operating theater and the general will be protected around the clock by our people, not the police."

"You think O'Neill remains in danger?" Teal'c asked, speaking for the first time.

Jesse eyed the Jaffa warrior dolefully. "Let's just say I'm not taking any chances. I wish we had him in the infirmary. Failing that..."

"A military hospital," Carter finished for him when he trailed off. Ellis nodded.

"He's more vulnerable here and I don't like that one little bit."

"We can move him as soon as possible. Once he's recovered sufficiently." She did not even want to contemplate the possibility of O'Neill not recovering. No way could he survive for all these years, gone through everything he had, and then they lose him because of something like this. He did not deserve that. If he was going to die it had to be a hero's death, or from old age. Nothing less would do.

"That's the plan. Doc Brightman's on her way so she can cut through the medical bullshit. Once he's out of theater and we know better what we're facing... I guess we have to play it by ear, but I can't say I'm happy about it. Then I've got the FBI, the White House and the Joint Chiefs crawling up my ass for answers…" He rolled his eyes, feeling slightly better now he had shared his burden.

"If there is anything we can do, we are at your service," Teal'c offered with a short bow. He too was perturbed by this unsecured location.

"Sure. Thanks Teal'c. I guess we wait. They've assigned a private room to wait in. Down there, second door on the left," he said pointing to a corridor. "It's crowded. I guess the general is an important guy and everyone is itching to know if this is a national security issue." Another whisper of a smile appeared on his lips. "I'm waiting here until the doc arrives but there's no point in you sticking around. I can call when I hear anything." The three friends briefly looked aghast and then defiant. Jesse grinned. "I might have figured there'd be no shifting you three. You don't plan on going anywhere, right?"

"Not a chance," Daniel replied.

"No way in hell," said Carter.

"Indeed not," chimed in Teal'c.

"We'd like to see him as soon as possible, if that's okay," Sam added.

Jesse shook his head slightly. "I'd love to oblige but I figure you'll have to join the queue. Police, Feds…" He sighed again, briefly wishing for a simpler life. Things had seemed way easier than this out in a combat zone. At the SGC, there was one freaky crisis after another. Jesse loved it really, just not right now. Not when his CO was critical and in potentially life threatening danger.

Sam thought it was probably time to leave the poor man alone. He had enough to deal with without their worries to add to his burden. She could not know what a relief it was for Jack's XO to share his own concerns, albeit briefly.

"Who's in charge back at the ranch?" she asked, thinking this would be her final question for now.

"Colonel Eastman. Reynolds is backing him up. Only one team is out now and they are due back…" he glanced at his watch, "soon. Hopefully nothing major will be happening over the next couple of days, but one can never know for sure." Sam nodded knowingly. At the SGC, shit had a bad habit of hitting the fan at the worst possible moments. "General Hammond is available for consult over the end of a phone line. He wanted to come but is under orders to stay put in DC for now. The SGC is in good hands."

"If we're needed…" she started, not wanting to return to the mountain right now but thinking she should make the offer. The hard working members of SG-1 were on down time, after all.

Because O'Neill's absence from home disrupted their original plans for the barbeque, the three had spent the afternoon and evening together over at Daniel's place. They tried to compensate for their disappointment about the abortive get together by enjoying their down time with each other - minus one important friend. However, they remained slightly uneasy about the general. As they lacked any information or clues, the threesome could do little else but wonder what had happened.

Realizing SG-1 would want to be notified, the duty officer called Carter to tell her about O'Neill's current plight. Although not any comfort in this situation, it was good to know why the general had not been home when they turned up. They all wished the reason was something different, something prosaic. If only.

Their short vacation was convenient in the circumstances, but Carter knew Eastman might recall them any time if there was a crisis. All of them would rather be on hand at the hospital waiting for news about the general.

"I'll let Eastman know you're here," Jesse replied.

She nodded and exchanged a look of understanding with her fellow colonel. They could rely on him to keep them posted. He was a very efficient and dependable man, and extremely likeable with it. No wonder their CO thought so highly of him.

"We'll leave you to it, Jesse," she said, turning to her two companions. "I guess we wait with the others." She started to walk toward the room Ellis had indicated.

"Coffee?" asked Daniel, following Sam.

"Before we face the throng? Good idea."

"Indeed," agreed Teal'c.

So they went to pick up a decent dose of caffeine before settling in for their anxious wait.

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Catherine cradled the telephone in her hand, staring at it incredulously for long moments before she replaced the receiver on its pedestal. Stunned. Still trying to grasp the news. _Injured. Hospital. In theater._ She swore she only heard about one word in ten of what the man told her.

Jack was hurt. She got that much. The part that mattered most.

Before the call came, she had been fretting about him. He should have been at her place ages ago and Catherine had tried his cell phone a few times, her efforts rewarded only by voicemail. At heart, she knew something was wrong and his continuing absence only served to fuel her concern.

Where was he? Had he done something stupid? Had he…?

Catherine knew he was furious about what her ex had done. Jack tried to keep those feelings to himself - simply to be there for her - to listen, hug and comfort her - but his inner fury was obvious, at least to her. It seethed and nagged at him under that composed exterior. He did not want her to know the full extent of his ire, but she knew, or maybe she only knew part of it. The part she knew about was enough to scare her half to death about what he might do.

She worried he might get himself into trouble on her account. Jack was a good man, one of the best, but she understood very well that there was a darkness lurking under the surface. Catherine had faith that he would never turn this brooding dark against her, not like Pete. Jack was totally different, would never vent his anger at her in an act of violence. She was sure he had issues, had a past that had damaged him, but she would never anticipate him acting like that. Catherine trusted Jack implicitly. He was the kind of man she could trust and she knew it, despite a past that meant trust was usually in short supply.

But she realized he could turn that dark against others. For a start, this must have been part of his job. Jack would do almost anything to protect and serve his country. This was something she saw as fundamental to Jack O'Neill, a part of his nature. She understood it was part of him even without any direct evidence to suggest it. Her instincts told her. Something about the man Jack revealed to her told her.

Sometimes this propensity must have included doing things most people might find a little distasteful. This is why governments have armies - to do the things to protect their fellow countrymen that most people would not even begin to comprehend or do for themselves.

So she worried that this dark might be unleashed. Jack might try to avenge her, try to harm Pete.

Catherine was not worried that Pete might come to harm. For everything he had done to her, in the past and more recently, he deserved to be hurt. A taste of his own medicine. She often wished she could avenge herself, but this was not really in Catherine's nature. She might dream it, but would never do it. She fought Pete while he tried to hurt her, and she was proud of herself for that, for fighting back. But to seek him out for retribution was not Catherine's way.

Not so with Jack. She could imagine him proactively seeking Pete out, and the artist in Catherine had a vivid imagination. A vengeful Jack might be an angel of death, filled with a dreadful and overpowering wrath, hiding in the shadows and using them to wreak a mighty and awful retribution on the man who had harmed someone he cared about.

Thus, all the time he was not there with her she worried he might be out there getting himself into trouble. The phone call imbued her nagging concerns with a touch of the frantic. _Injured. Hospital. In theater._ She had considered Jack getting into trouble, but not this. Not that Jack might come to harm in seeking to harm.

In her gut, Catherine knew this is what had happened. That her ex had something to do with Jack's plight. No evidence, but she knew.

Jack was hurt. It was bad. No! It was not possible. It was unacceptable. Nevertheless, it was true. _Injured. Hospital. In theater._ Her handsome, kindhearted, wonderful General Jack. What would become of him? He could not leave her, not now. Surely, he could not die for her sake? She so was not worth it. He deserved better than that.

In a daze, she grabbed her purse and scurried to the door, glancing briefly in the mirror and realizing she could not leave the apartment like that. Catherine had been moping around in a housecoat all day, trying to distract herself from her woes. In her distracted and befuddled rush to get to the hospital, she had forgotten that.

Catherine had been regretting sending Jack away. Sure, she needed time for herself, but Jack had given her that when he was there, and been on hand as her chief hugger and protector at the same time. She loved that about him and missed having him around. She needed him and he was not there. The apartment echoed with silence and increasing dread. So much for that hard fought for independence.

Close to acting as if on autopilot, Catherine changed into street clothes as quickly as her aching body would let her. She grabbed a pair of jeans, a blouse, a jacket – the nearest things to hand. Anything that would allow her to leave the apartment as quickly as possible, and cover her injuries at the same time. After rummaging for a large pair of sunglasses to hide her blackened eyes, she surveyed herself in a mirror again.

Catherine had not left her apartment since the attack, seeking to hide her injuries from a curious and judgmental world. She still looked like crap, but no longer cared. She needed to get to that hospital.

Then, realizing she was not in a fit state to drive, she called a cab and waited. The waiting seemed to stretch endlessly. Too long. This was when the tears came at last. The frantic sobbing and wailing. She shuddered and shook uncontrollably as she cried her heavily laden and sorrowful heart out. Jack! Her poor hurt Jack! _Injured. Hospital. In theater._

Catherine was desperate to get there quickly, desperate to see him, desperate to know he would be all right.

_Injured. Hospital. In theater._ She could hardly believe it was true – but it was.

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_"He's bleeding out."_

_"BP's dropping like a stone. We're losing him!"_

_"We need more blood."_

_The monitor flat lined and the medics quickly started the business of trying to revive their patient from the death their equipment foretold. That death was not yet inevitable. They still might save him. _

_"Charge the paddle to 100. Clear!" Pause. "Nothing."_

_"Again. Charge to 200. Clear!" _

_Pause. "No rhythm. Make it 3. Give me 5 of epi ... charging. Clear!_

The watchful SFs standing guard outside exchanged worried looks, aware of the frenetic activity inside the operating theater. They were expected to remain imperturbable, but it was difficult in these circumstances. This was their boss, General O'Neill. He was someone they admired and respected, and he was fighting for his life.

TBC


	11. Waiting for Jack

Waiting for Jack

Author's Note: Firstly, apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. Cliff-hangers can be a bitch! But, RL must come first, and mine has been difficult lately. Thanks to all of you who are reading this for your terrific feedback. I hope you enjoy this chapter. Secondly, Lynette (Flatkatsi) who beta read this fic deserves endless gratitude for her hard work and patience. As always, without her input this would be a far poorer story.

Content Warnings: Themes of domestic and other violence. Language.

Spoilers: None

Summary: "Waiting is a trap. There will always be reasons to wait... The truth is, there are only two things in life, reasons and results, and reasons simply don't count." Quote from Robert Anthony

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2008 Su Freund

**Waiting for Jack**

Daniel paced, muttering under his breath. It was irritating Carter, who was just as concerned about O'Neill as he was but trying to stay composed. She wished he would join her and Teal'c and settle down. But he was still the same old Daniel. A civilian.

Air Force training sure came in handy in a crisis. To stop from freaking out, Carter was using every trick she had ever learned. Not easy but necessary, particularly in a situation where you feel totally powerless.

The threesome all loved Jack in their individual ways and the notion of losing him was gut-wrenching. Almost unthinkable and certainly unacceptable.

"I wish we knew how he is," Daniel said. He had mumbled something similar many times since they had entered the room.

"When Jesse knows, we'll know," Carter replied in a tetchy tone that Daniel appeared not to notice.

"I wish we were in the infirmary," he muttered. Pace, pace…

"Daniel, for crying out loud, sit down!" Carter snarled, knowing what he meant by the comment. She agreed. Back in the SGC they might be just as helpless as they were now, but they would feel closer to O'Neill, closer to what was going on and what the medical staff were doing. They would feel more in control, more knowledgeable… have more faith that he would be okay. Sure, Daniel was right to wish for it, but that did not stop his incessant pacing from driving her nuts!

Teal'c placed a restraining and sympathetic arm on her shoulder, squeezing gently, and everyone in the room looked at her, including Daniel this time. Sam reddened, embarrassed at loosing her cool, and Daniel eyed her for a few moments, taken aback by her tone. He stopped pacing and threw himself with a loud thump into the vacant chair next to her.

"Sam, are you all right?" he asked. Although he aimed the question at her, he was glancing at Teal'c in a puzzled manner, oblivious that his unease – and more specifically the pacing – was unsettling her.

"Of course I'm not all right. Don't be such an ass!" she exclaimed, although she kept her voice as low as possible, trying to look calmer than she felt.

Carter was discomforted by becoming the centre of attention of the waiting room's occupants, albeit briefly. They did not know most of these people, except from the cursory introductions made when they first came in earlier on. Back at the SGC, they would not be sitting there waiting with a room full of strangers who probably did not even know O'Neill very well personally, if at all, but were merely hanging around because they had a job to do.

The place and the people were disconcerting enough without the interminable waiting, which threw them all off balance. Leastwise, it seemed interminable to Jack's friends. No news is good news, right? If only that were true, but the team knew better. Sometimes it was not good news. Sometimes it was bad news. Bad news they could live without. They did not want or need it. They wanted and needed to know O'Neill was all right, that he would live, that his injuries would heal, that he would be whole again. So the interminable waiting was getting them all down – and then there was Daniel's impatient and fretful pacing!

It was a small relief that he had sat down at last. He had been pacing ever since he had finished his coffee and that had been ages ago, it seemed. The other people in the room must have found it irritating too, Carter thought, but they seemed to ignore it after a while. For her, it was something that disturbed the calm she was trying to pretend she felt. She was trying her best, using all those tricks she had learned, but Daniel's much more obvious and emotional reaction made her efforts that much harder.

Teal'c, of course, was a rock. A steadying influence on their tattered nerves. His stoic placidity was something they could all wish to emulate, a lesson they could learn. Carter was certain he was just as worried as the rest of them. However, he hid it well behind that sphinx-like facade. If only…

"Ass?" Daniel responded in a slightly hurt tone. "What, you're channeling Jack now?"

Sam could not help but smile faintly at his comment. She did sound a little like the general, although if he was sitting here waiting she was certain he would be doing the composed Teal'c thing and not be the mess she felt she was. He could be pretty good at unfathomable too. Sometimes that was just as infuriating as Daniel's overtly emotional responses.

Daniel wore his heart on his sleeve and Sam normally loved that about him, but not right now. She did not need his expressive feelings rubbing off on her when she was aiming for unreadable. Carter figured she would never achieve that O'Neill/Teal'c inscrutability thing. Maybe she should not even try, although she thought it could be a useful tool to keep in her box of tricks.

Carter had learned a lot from the general and was still learning. Learning never stopped, she guessed, and probably it never should. Maybe she should come right out and ask O'Neill how he did it. That was when, and if, she got the chance. Sure, she would get the chance. You betchya she would.

Everyone else in the waiting room had stopped staring now, returning to their silence or the small cliques engaged in whispered conversation. This helped Carter feel slightly less edgy. That and the fact Daniel was now sitting down. She took a deep calming breath.

"I'm sorry, Daniel, b-but…" She did not know how to put it so trailed off.

"I believe Colonel Carter is attempting to remain composed in the face of her anxiety, Daniel Jackson," Teal'c said, attempting to come to her rescue. Carter smiled at him gratefully.

"So me pacing up and down isn't helping, huh?" Daniel asked. Visibly emotional he might sometimes be, but stupid he was not.

"Indeed."

Daniel nodded understandingly and draped his arm around Sam's shoulder, kissing her cheek in a comradely manner. "He'll pull through okay," he said in a positive tone.

"I'm confident," she replied with a twinge of a smile.

"Me too," Daniel agreed with a grin.

"As am I," Teal'c added, and the three snickered softly at what was a private team joke.

"I guess I'm feeling jumpy," Daniel explained.

"I know, Daniel. We all are," Carter responded. "I just… I need us to stay calm, okay?"

So, Daniel determined to appear less agitated for Sam's sake, but he needed to keep occupied. "Coffee? Coke?" he asked. At least he could make himself useful. Sam nodded as he mentioned coffee, but Teal'c paused for a moment before responding.

"I believe I will partake in some coffee for refreshment, Daniel Jackson," he replied, and Daniel acknowledged his wish, promptly leaving the room to fetch their drinks.

When he returned with three coffees, he sat in the same chair again and passed them out. The two men flanked Carter and directed their apprehension about O'Neill at her, another target for concern helping distract them from the more obvious one.

"I think we ought to phone Catherine," Daniel said, the notion suddenly occurring to him. "She's probably expecting to see Jack and worried sick he hasn't shown up."

"She's not going to worry any less if we tell her." Daniel noted Sam's slightly acerbic tone and threw her an arched look.

"What? Then you think we shouldn't tell her?" Daniel retorted, his manner close to being as caustic as hers. Sam glanced at him regretfully.

"Sorry, Daniel. That's not what I meant. Of course, we need to let her know. It's just…" She shrugged helplessly, tears welling up in her eyes, which she quickly attempted to repress. They were all on edge, their tempers frayed. Sighing heavily, she repeated her apology. "I'm sorry."

He said nothing for a moment and then rose from his chair. "I'll ask Jesse if he has her phone number," he replied, realizing her tetchiness was only borne from their mutual edginess. They all desperately needed to hear some good news. The waiting was killing them.

"I bet Jesse already thought of it," she said, because she did not think that kind of detail was something O'Neill's XO was likely to forget. He was good with detail, a great organizer. This was one reason he was the right person for the XO job, and for fulfilling his current role at the hospital.

"Then I'm surprised she isn't here," Daniel replied, turning to exit the room. "Jesse's had a lot to deal with. Even he isn't perfect," he added with his back to the team, so he did not see Sam nod in agreement.

He returned a couple of minutes later to confirm Jesse had already called Catherine, and the three team mates fell silent until Sam spoke again.

"You think Jack is serious about her?" she asked in a low voice. Her expression was pensive and the use of her CO's first name was a dead give away about her emotional state. Daniel and Teal'c exchanged knowing and concerned looks.

Meanwhile, Sam was not sure she wanted to know the answer to her question. She was not even sure why she had voiced it. The notion of Catherine made her feel edgy. She knew that was ridiculous, probably hypocritical given she was engaged to Pete. But this was the first time O'Neill had had a girlfriend since they had known him, or as far as she was aware. It seemed strange, discombobulating. Frankly, she was envious.

All those suppressed feelings for her CO kept surfacing uncomfortably when she thought about the woman, so she tried to avoid thinking about her as much as possible, while pretending – pretending their relationship did not matter to her, pretending she had no feelings for O'Neill other than friendship and the fact he was her boss. She was fighting a losing battle with herself, but no way would she admit it.

"Yeah. Kind of." Daniel saw a fleeting look pass over Sam's face that he could have sworn was a combination of hurt feelings and jealousy. 'Whoa!' He thought. 'You're the one engaged to someone else." He was tempted to say so, to tell her she had no right to feel that way, but decided discretion was more appropriate. He must have shown some of those thoughts on his face, however, as Carter reacted as if he had spoken aloud.

"Don't Daniel!"

"What?" he said in an injured tone.

For once, he had decided to keep his mouth firmly shut and he still got it in the neck. It seemed unfair. Sam must be reading his mind. Probably she was thinking the same thing, that she had no right. Sam was wrong about that and so was he. She did have a right – of sorts.

Jack and Sam's relationship had always been… different. There had been an air of expectation around the pair of them for years. They were professionals and did their jobs, obeyed the regs, kept their distance and all of that, but none of this meant they did not have inappropriate feelings for each other.

Daniel was fairly certain they did have those kinds of mutual feelings, despite Catherine Fellowes and Pete Shanahan. That made this situation even more difficult to bear for Sam, he realized. Fleetingly he wondered what might have happened if Jack's barbeque had gone ahead instead of him getting himself attacked by unknown assailants.

Sam probably would have been on her best behavior and she would never have shown any of those feelings for Jack openly. How could she have? She might even have gone as far as to try befriending Catherine. In Daniel's view, there was something sad about that. It was a great pity his two friends had to turn to other people because they were not allowed to turn to each other.

The whole Jack, Sam, Pete and Catherine situation was a minefield probably left well alone because it could blow up in their faces at any moment. So Daniel decided to refrain from further comment about Catherine for the moment.

Given that Jesse had called, she would probably arrive soon anyway. It would be kind of weird meeting Jack's girlfriend for the first time in these circumstances. Weird for all of them, including Catherine, who would certainly be as upset by Jack's situation as the rest of them.

Carter sighed, saying nothing in response to her friend's wounded tone, and Daniel placed an arm around her and hugged her again, thinking his private thoughts. She took his hand and gave it a squeeze, whispering 'sorry' in his ear. He smiled at her engagingly and nodded acknowledgement. And then they sat like that for what seemed to be the longest time. Waiting. Interminably waiting for word of their injured friend.

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_He could not see the bottom. A sheer drop into never-ending depths. His precarious balance on the precipice left him exposed and icy wind whipped around him, chilling him through to the bone. He shivered, shielding his eyes from the glaring white light with his fingers. _

_Despite its overwhelming intensity, the light was alluring, tempting him to step forward into the nothingness below. The light spoke, urging him on, telling him to have faith, trying to captivate him. He had lost faith many years ago. Still had hope, but not much faith. Nevertheless, he ached to throw himself off the precipice toward the light. That way lay certain death. _

_Without his volition, his foot moved closer to the edge. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, willing it to stop. Not ready to take that step. Still too much left to do. He did not want to fall into that bright and eternal place. _

_Turning his head, he realized what lay behind him was bleak and oppressive. Dense fog, lack of clarity. He could not see more than a few inches in front of his face. That way lay the unknown, uncertainty. The blank spaces on the map which told him that here there be dragons. _

_It was a conundrum. For a few seconds, he was not sure where to go, only that he needed to get off the precipice. It was important. He was not sure why, but it was. And he needed to do it quickly. Right now. _

_Choices. Decisions. One thing he was good at. Making them, standing by them, living with them._

_He took a tentative step…_

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_"We've got a pulse!"_

_"BP up… nearly normal."_

_"Phew, that was close."_

As the hubbub behind the closed doors died down, and the normal rhythmic bleeping sounds of the monitors started up again, the two SFs guarding the door turned to each other and smiled. Panic over, it seemed. Relieved, the pair returned to their impenetrable norm, eyes forward, standing ramrod straight. The old man was okay - at least for now. Both of them were silently hoping it would stay that way.

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From his composed demeanor, Carter could not possibly have guessed what Teal'c was thinking. Inside, O'Neill's plight filled him with fury. He wanted to find the people who had injured his friend and tear them apart piece by piece, making them suffer a slow and torturous death. It was a Jaffa revenge thing, as O'Neill might have said.

Someone had harmed a man he respected and liked. A friend. No Jaffa would easily take such an event in their stride. Not unless the perpetrator was a Goa'uld. Then they had little choice but to suffer the anger of their god or his minions in silence, in times gone by anyway. But for a friend to suffer such harm was different. It was almost instinctive for a Jaffa to seek to avenge such a wrong.

Teal'c was as disturbed as the rest of his team by O'Neill's welfare. He wished him well, wanted him to live. If he had a god to pray to, the Jaffa might have secretly sunk to his knees to beg for such an outcome, but he worshiped nothing now. What he had left was a warrior's code and his own unique interpretation of it, adapted by his years spent working and playing with the Tauri.

Just as he had educated and influenced his friends on Earth, so too had they wrought some changes on him. Teal'c was a different man to the person SG-1 had encountered on Chulak all those years before. More human, perhaps. Yet, he was still the same man; he simply had a different mission. One that was very personal to him - freedom from slavery and oppression for his fellow Jaffa, and for those who endured tyranny. Particularly, but not exclusively, from the Goa'uld.

False gods. No one should have to suffer them. Teal'c loathed those who would set themselves above others in such a way.

And he had another personal mission. One he rarely referred to. For many years, he had slaughtered innocents on behalf of those false gods he despised. Teal'c knew he could not hope to achieve redemption for his sins. He had committed too many acts of evil in someone else's name. So, any hope of redemption would take more lifetimes than he could live, and would probably not be possible even then.

However, he would do what he could do. He had to try, and he would continue to do so for the rest of his life, with his last breath if necessary. By striving to save others from the yoke of repression, Teal'c would die knowing he had tried. And he would die free. That had to be enough because he could do no more.

O'Neill held a special place in his heart. He had given Teal'c the chance to make the attempt. He had given him freedom, and fought to do likewise for others. He had seen worth in Teal'c – a heart and soul that the Jaffa thought might be lost, despite any efforts he made to do some good amongst the terrible evil.

This was a gift beyond price and he was in O'Neill's debt. They were brothers and Teal'c felt his brother's pain and torment deep in his breast and gut. So now, he had another mission, far more personal than his other broader aims. Justice for the injuries imposed on his brother. And for Jaffa, justice meant a very different thing than it did to his human friends. No judges and juries, but bloody and furious revenge. Summary justice.

The passion of a Jaffa on a mission of personal vengeance was terrifying to behold. Virtually uncontrollable. As Apophis might have controlled him in the past, only Jack O'Neill himself was likely to be able to manage him now. Not even Colonel Carter was likely to intervene successfully.

As angry and upset as she might be about O'Neill, he knew Carter would try. So, Teal'c kept his own counsel about his plans. He did not yet know enough about the people who had committed this crime against his brother. Not enough to go out into this Tauri world and fulfill his wish for retribution. He would bide his time. Wait for news of O'Neill. Wait for more intelligence. Even a wrathful Teal'c could be an extremely patient man.

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Catherine had never once imagined the first time she would meet Jack's friends was in such terrible circumstances - in a hospital waiting room hoping and praying for good news about Jack. Not the auspicious occasion she might have wished for.

Waiting for the cab to take her there, time passed frustratingly slowly. Once in the back seat and on her way, it did not start moving forward any quicker. It seemed to take an age to reach the hospital.

She passed the never-ending time by allowing her imagination to run riot. Not deliberately, you understand. Catherine simply could not help herself. Jack O'Neill thought he was a master at conjuring the worst case scenario but Catherine could have given him a run for his money. She pictured the numerous flowers and wreaths at his funeral, smelled the acrid stench of the gunpowder as the honor guard saluted his passing, heard the mournful refrain of Taps and envisaged the meticulous folding of the American flag. Pessimism took root and grew with alarming rapidity.

By the time she reached the hospital, Catherine was more frantic than ever. After paying the driver she stood outside for a while dreading what she might learn if she took those final footsteps through the entrance. Bracing herself, she took a few long deep breaths in an effort to slow her disturbingly fast heart rate, taking a faltering step forward. She was as ready as she was ever going to be.

Jesse Ellis saw her as soon as she came in. He recognized her from the photographs Walter Harriman had obtained for their CO from the newspaper offices a few weeks before, after the pair had appeared together in the social columns. She wore dark glasses and did not remove them as she walked through the door. This puzzled him but he discarded the fleeting thought. Her posture told him she was flustered, shocked, and totally lost. For a moment, she stood there peering around, and then started toward the reception. She looked uncomfortable as she walked, he noticed, off kilter as if it hurt to put one foot in front of the other.

Ellis hastened to intercept her. "Miss Fellowes?" he queried and she jumped slightly with surprise before turning to face the dark baritone voice.

"Yes."

"I'm Colonel Ellis, General O'Neill's Executive Officer. We spoke on the phone."

"Yes, of course," she responded slightly absently. "How is he? Is he all right?"

"Nothing new, I'm afraid. Nothing I didn't tell you on the phone."

The woman appeared slightly perplexed by those words. "I-I'm sorry, but I can't… I can't quite remember everything you said. I suppose I lost it." She looked unhappy with herself at the thought.

If Ellis had known her, he would have realized she was the kind of woman who would normally give you her full attention, a trait that drew you in and charmed the heck out of you. But when he called, Catherine had picked up only enough of his words to get the gist. She had been too shocked to take it all in. Still was.

Sympathetically, Ellis explained it all again - as much as he knew, or as much as he could tell her. The upshot was the same either way. No news, good or bad. She seemed flummoxed and upset by what he said. As she stood in silence, apparently thinking about it, maybe trying to formulate questions, he studied her subtly.

It did not take him long to surmise the reason for the sunglasses. Disguise, shame. Someone had blackened her eye. The bruising extended over her cheek. The colonel tried to avoid staring as he did not wish to make her feel even more self-conscious. Certainly, he was too polite to ask but Jesse wondered what her story was.

He figured this bruising, along with the awkward bearing that might indicate further injury, could not be merely coincidental. If O'Neill's situation and her injuries were linked, Jesse probably needed to know about it. Well, not so much him, but those people who were investigating the attack.

Maybe the injuries were linked, maybe not. Ellis wondered what had come first, the chicken or the egg, but he did not believe in coincidences and decided he should pass his observations onto the proper authorities. He was not directly involved in the investigation although as the night wore on he occasionally wished he was. However, he had his job to do and, presently, this did not include prying into people's personal affairs. Perhaps he should consider himself lucky after all. Perhaps his job was easier than raking up dirt.

In response to Catherine's questions, the colonel tried to be reassuring. He wished he had the answers, for his benefit as well as hers. When he guided her to the waiting room, Jesse knew its occupants would look to him in expectation. They did that each time he popped in, so he had already taken to avoiding the place when he could. Nothing new to report sounded kind of hollow and stuck in his throat.

As they walked, Jesse was unhappy with the notion that Catherine would be sitting upset and worried amongst all those strangers in the room. He hoped she might find some friendly faces in SG-1.

Just as he thought, everyone looked up in anticipation as Ellis ushered her into the room, and he hastened to forestall them by announcing he had no further news. The numbers in the room had thinned slightly, and he noticed one of the SFs was missing, probably off keeping tabs as instructed. Once again, he suggested the occupants might be better occupied elsewhere, get a good night's sleep, he would keep them informed.

He hoped at least some of them would take the hint, although knew others would not. No way was SG-1 leaving, for example, and he doubted Ms Fellowes would any time soon either. Most of the others had no personal interest in O'Neill's fate - strictly business as far as they were concerned. Jesse would feel way better if they left. A number of individual headaches he could live without.

When Catherine walked in, hobbling slightly he noticed, Daniel recognized her immediately and stood while she and Jesse approached.

"Jesse," he acknowledged with a nod before the man had time to say anything. "And you're Catherine, right?" She looked up at the colonel for some reassurance and he smiled encouragingly, so Catherine turned back to face Daniel. The other two members of SG-1 had been slower to realize who she was, but now also rose from their chairs, although they hung back and allowed Daniel to greet her. "I'm Daniel Jackson, Jack's friend."

He tried to be surreptitious in his examination. Obviously, the woman had been beaten, and recently. Like Ellis, he realized that the attack on Jack seemed unlikely to be a simple coincidence and wondered what the heck was going on. Injuries caused by a personal matter might be an improvement on the potential SGC security threat scenario they all feared. Not that Daniel cared right now. All he truly cared about was for Jack to be okay.

Catherine smiled faintly, but seemed dazed. Daniel thought it must have smarted for her to use her facial muscles in that way. If not for the dark swelling, partially hidden by the sunglasses but still obvious, he had no doubt the smile would have been attractive, warm and welcoming. Not surprising she was preoccupied, he supposed, given her boyfriend's current plight.

"Daniel Jackson," Catherine repeated in a distracted tone and Daniel figured he could not have expected a hello, nice to meet you and a handshake in the circumstances.

"Will you look after Ms Fellowes for me while I go press for some news about the general?" Ellis asked. His eyes met Daniel's and the archeologist mumbled agreement. After exchanging a few whispered words with the remaining SF on his way out, Jesse retreated, leaving Catherine in Daniel's care.

Daniel lightly grasped her arm and steered her towards the others. Unsurprisingly in the circumstances, Catherine's manner was anxious and agitated, so he tried soothing her.

"Don't worry. Jack's had worse. He'll be fine. He's tough," he said reassuringly, although with more confidence than he felt. Catherine seemed to need the optimism and so, frankly, did he. One cannot always be certain about cases of internal bleeding and it continued to nag at him. "Come. Sit down."

Carter and Teal'c looked her up and down curiously but did not allude to her injuries. Catherine's bruising did not seem to be fresh, as if it might have occurred a few days before. It was beginning to change color as bruising does a little while after the initial injury – looking worse before it gets better. They had all witnessed such damage many times.

Like Daniel, they started put two and two together, although for all they knew they might have jumped to the wrong conclusions, miscalculated by totaling the sum to five rather than four. Certainly, O'Neill had not done this to her. Such a thing was not in his nature, of that they were confident. Sure, they had seen him pissed off, many times, but none of them believed Jack capable of this kind of abuse.

This hinted at what might have happened. Maybe O'Neill knew who had done this thing to Catherine, sought revenge, and it had bitten him on the ass in a big way. That would not have surprised any of his team, particularly Teal'c. They all knew what O'Neill could be capable of. It was possible.

All of them pondered the implications of Jack O'Neill having met his match. It was possible but for someone with his training it seemed unlikely to them. Not if he had been ready for them. So, they figured his assailants, and there surely had to be more than one, must have caught him off guard.

Of course, they might all be surmising too much, but they suspected there was more to this than met the eye, or the guessing game they were all playing. Perhaps it was better not to speculate for now.

"This is Sam Carter and… um… Teal'c," Daniel said, introducing them. At the last second, he decided to introduce Teal'c by his real name. He had no idea what Jack had told her about them or how he planned on introducing Teal'c to her, but it seemed the right thing to do. She barely appeared to notice the unusual name or, certainly, she did not comment.

"I wish we could have met under better circumstances," said Catherine, pulling herself together a little and shaking their hands. "I'm sorry, Daniel," she added, remembering her manners and holding out her hand to shake his too. "I-I…" Her words tailed away and she looked vulnerable and bewildered.

Carter ushered her to a chair and encouraged her to sit, trying to be comforting. She could have used some comfort herself, but it helped to have someone else to be concerned about apart from the general.

"I guess I didn't want to meet you all looking like this. That's why Jack cancelled the barbeque. I suppose you knew that." Catherine pointed to her face, knowing very well that the sunglasses did not really hide her swollen bruises. The friends exchanged glances, her words seeming to add weight to their individual theorizing. None of them mentioned Jack had not cancelled the barbeque, or at least he had not told them about it. "But, now… I wanted this to go better. You're his friends." She had so wished to make a good first impression on these people and this was not it.

"Um… what happened?" Sam ventured to ask.

"Jack didn't tell you?" Catherine asked, a little surprised that Jack had not mentioned it. On the other hand, they were talking about Jack O'Neill. She knew he could be a very private man.

"No."

"Oh!" Catherine's brow furrowed into a frown of puzzlement. "I didn't know. I thought he might have told you. I suppose that's very Jack. Not to say anything."

"Yeah, well I guess he's been, um, preoccupied," Daniel responded compassionately, knowing very well that Jack was never likely to have told them anything much when it came to something happening in his private life.

Catherine sighed, raising a hand to her mouth and wiping it over her hair in an anxious gesture of misery.

"This is my fault!" she exclaimed heatedly, directing her ire at herself. Tears pricked in her eyes, but they never came. Sam placed an arm around her and gave her a squeeze, hastily removing it when Catherine winced.

"I'm sorry," Carter said apologetically but Catherine did not react. Instead, her eyes roamed around the room taking in her surroundings and observing its other occupants, who seemed to be viewing her with curiosity. She recalled Colonel Ellis explaining that a number of people were taking an interest in Jack's predicament. Catherine figured it came with his job.

She tried to ignore their stares and focus on the small room. The decor was quite plain in a shade of off white and the furniture was tasteful with comfortable blue chairs and a table of the type that hospital employees might use for small meetings. She wondered if this place was not actually a waiting room at all. Now she looked closer it did not seem like any she had ever seen. Not that Catherine had much experience of hospital waiting rooms. Most of her trips to hospital had been as a patient.

Some decent art reproductions brightened the plain walls. Catherine recognized Cezanne and Monet along with a blue period Picasso. In her opinion, whoever had chosen them had good taste. Her thoughts drifted to art, her work and the devastation her ex had wreaked.

He had failed to damage one artwork. It had not been in her studio at the time but in her suitcase. She was going to give it to Jack as a present while they were in Denver. Charlie. Jack did not even know she had finished the portrait.

"Are you all right?" Daniel asked pulling her back to the here and now. Dumb question. All right? Of course she was not all right. What was he thinking?

"My fault," she said distractedly.

Daniel took a breath, plunging in as only he could. "What do you mean, Catherine? What happened?"

"It must have been Pete. He planned this. That's why he came. He was after Jack the whole time," she replied.

"Pete? You mean your ex, Peter Rodgers?" Daniel queried. Jack had told him a little about the man and he did not sound like a very nice guy.

"Jack will be okay, won't he?" Catherine asked as if she had not heard his question.

It seemed to Daniel they probably would not get a lot of sense out of her right now. She was too upset, her mind going off at tangents. He decided not to press, keep the questions for later. Anyway, he figured the cops might be onto this one. No doubt, there would be many questions, and hopefully just as many answers.

"He's always okay," Carter said reassuringly, echoing Daniel's earlier words of encouragement. Like her team mate, Sam wished she was as confident as she sounded. Her CO had limits and one of these days, his luck might run out. She just hoped today would not be that day.

"I am confident that O'Neill will make a complete recovery," interjected Teal'c, speaking for the first time since Catherine had arrived.

Catherine smiled weakly at the supportive friends. "I hope you're right." She recalled Daniel saying Jack had suffered worse and it made her wonder. Knowing he had been captured in Iraq and tortured, but little else, she assumed they were talking about that. Maybe there was more.

"He's been injured before?" she asked probingly, wishing to learn what she could about Jack from his friends. Knowing the often secretive nature of the military and Jack, however, she did not pin her hopes on an informative response.

"Sure. That's the military for you," Daniel replied in an earnest tone, but he did not elucidate further.

"Sometimes I wish I knew more about what he's done, what he does."

"Yeah. Well, Jack keeps his cards close to his chest. You've probably noticed that," said Daniel with a smile, which she returned. Just as she suspected, his friends seemed unlikely to give anything away.

It appeared to Daniel that Catherine's focus had improved slightly and he wondered if it was worth asking her some of those questions they needed answers to. "Do you know anything about what happened to Jack?" he asked, fidgeting with his glasses and pushing them up his nose awkwardly.

"Not really. I haven't seen him since yesterday morning. He called me earlier." She choked up slightly. "He wanted to stay. You know how protective he is. He was worried my ex would come back. But I wanted some time alone. I wish… if I hadn't… maybe he'd be okay now. This might not have happened."

Daniel took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "So your husband did this to you?" he queried and Catherine nodded.

"We were meant to be going to Denver… but…" she said, providing a time frame for the team at last. They knew about the planned trip to Denver. Jack was taking Catherine to the opera. They should have returned this morning in plenty of time for Jack's barbeque this afternoon. Obviously, the couple had never made it to Denver. Catherine's ex had other plans, it seemed.

"Don't blame yourself, Catherine," Sam said.

Her tone was supportive. No woman deserved this kind of beating from any man under any circumstances. It made her blood boil to think about it and she could understand why Jack would be so protective, and extremely pissed. He might be capable of almost anything in those circumstances, she thought. He was always protective enough of his team and other members of the SGC, would do almost anything to keep them from harm. She dreaded to think what he was capable of if someone hurt a person he cared for like he probably did Catherine.

Her anger flared just below the surface, on Catherine's behalf and partly at O'Neill, but she realized this was not the right time and place to express it. Sam was pissed with Jack for getting himself hurt so badly, pissed that he had never asked for their help, pissed at the world in general. It was all part of the emotional turmoil sparked by her frustration and distress, especially now she had learned this about Catherine's ex.

Carter recalled her misunderstanding with O'Neill a few weeks before, when she had overheard him talking to Daniel about Catherine's Pete and believed him to be referring to her fiance. No wonder Jack had such a low opinion of the man, if he was capable of something like this. It made her curious about Catherine's past, but she would never pry.

"So you think your ex husband did this to Jack?" Daniel probed.

"Possibly," she replied. "If he did, he wasn't alone. Pete's a coward. Only cowards beat up woman, right? And he likes doing that. Gets a kick from it. Makes him feel superior, dominant. He's sick, but he isn't stupid. He could never have done this to Jack by himself. Wouldn't have the guts. But I have no proof. It's only guesswork."

At that moment, the door opened, interrupting their conversation. Everyone looked toward it, hopeful they were about to get some answers. Carter gasped with surprise as the newcomer entered the room - her fiance, Pete Shanahan.

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The atmosphere at the SGC was subdued. Most people were tense, slightly agitated. Waiting. Waiting for news of their Commanding Officer.

It was late, the graveyard shift, but some people who should have left the mountain hours before were still hanging around. Waiting. Waiting for news of their Commanding Officer.

Walter Harriman was one such man. O'Neill could sometimes be irritating but Walter cared more than he would admit about the general. He, along with many others under the general's command, would do almost anything for the man. That included a long and sleepless night worrying. Waiting. Waiting for news of his Commanding Officer.

O'Neill could be dark, dismissive and sometimes appear to be rude. On the other hand, he could be humorous, amiable and inspirational. Whatever his mood, Walter knew his CO cared deeply for each and every person under his command. He would bend over backwards to help any one of them if they needed it, and they would return the favor. When one of them was hurt, so was O'Neill. He felt it in his soul.

The general had been a great team leader, proven his ability on the field of battle heading the premier team in the SGC, saving the planet, the universe. He and SG-1 had done it all and seen it all. Walter had witnessed the man get injured many times. He would return through the gate white as a sheet, bleeding, burned, limping, shot full of holes, sometimes close to dying. But, unless he was actually unconscious, his primary concern would almost certainly be for his team. They came first. Always.

His adventures, bravery and attitude had won him many friends and admirers in the SGC, first and foremost his own team. O'Neill could appear cynical and acerbic, but in reality he was a man who savored life, his and others, and kept hope alive, kept them fighting.

Walter realized his CO had found his transition from leader of SG-1 to Commander of the SGC tough. It was not an easy job and General Hammond was a hard act to follow. Although O'Neill tried not to show it, the sergeant knew he agonized about his decisions, the impact they might have on his subordinates and the whole planet. He had one hell of a job to do, but then in Harriman's humble opinion O'Neill was one hell of an officer.

The sergeant knew the job of the general was poles apart from his previous team leader role, and that sometimes his boss faltered. Publically, O'Neill exuded confidence, making decisions swiftly and resolutely. But, in supporting his CO, Walter had witnessed private moments, brief flickers of self-doubt and torment. Having worked there from the beginning, he had observed so much of what had happened during many of the more major incidents. He knew his CO was one of the best and he would be hard pressed to find better.

The control room was quiet, almost peaceful, and Walter stared thoughtfully at the Stargate. The gigantic ring of glyphs was a beautiful sight. Even after all these years, he still thought so. And when the seventh chevron locked, and the enormous wave burst forth leaving a shimmering blue pool in its wake, it grew even more extraordinary.

Walter thought he was lucky to work in this wondrous place. To some, his job might seem mundane, but not to him. He contributed to one of the most awesome projects that had ever existed in the history of the human race. An endeavor so secret that very few people on Earth even knew of its existence. And he served a righteous cause. Who could ask for more than that?

The things he had seen were mind-blowing. Aliens, hundreds of inhabited planets, other galaxies, space wars, star ships, near-miss invasions. And he, Walter Harriman, was part of it.

Mundane? Huh!

He felt really badly about the general, and not simply because of what he had experienced at the SGC. Although their SGC connection was random chance, the two men had a history. They had worked on the same base before and O'Neill was good to him, encouraging him as a mere airman to strive for more. There was a time when Walter had thought about giving up on the Air Force. He seemed to be getting nowhere, but O'Neill turned him around, helping instill the confidence go for it. If not for him, Walter would probably not be at the SGC now but doing some kind of genuinely mundane job as a civilian, and he would not have missed this experience for the world.

So, he had a lot to be grateful to O'Neill for, but not many people on the base knew about that shared history. Walter could be quite the gossip sometimes, but some things he kept mainly to himself. He knew when to shut up and put up and he knew who to trust with his secrets. Jack O'Neill would have been one of those trusted people, if Walter ever had any real secrets to share.

The general could be a formidable man. Quite scary actually. Walter had had occasion to feel that fear and intimidation. On the other hand, who on the base had not been on its receiving end? The sergeant respected those aspects of O'Neill. A general had to be daunting as well as approachable and inspiring. O'Neill was all of those things, and much more. The man was a hero, but a humble one. His sometimes apparent arrogance was just a front. Walter liked that about him.

"You all right, sergeant?" asked a voice behind him, and Walter started, surprised by the sudden appearance of his acting commander, Colonel Eastman.

"Yes sir," he replied smartly, standing.

Eastman sported the closest of close cropped haircuts and a face of iron. Walter did not like him that much. He was not a very likeable man. The colonel lacked a sense of humor, it seemed, and had an air of unpleasant superiority about him. Certainly, he was no Jack O'Neill. But, right now, he was the boss.

If Walter had known him better, he might have thought differently. Eastman was not such a bad guy and he had some excellent traits. But Walter did not know him better. Not like he knew O'Neill.

This was not the first time Eastman had stepped in to run the base and probably would not be the last. It was part of his job to take charge sometimes if his CO was absent. Normally, he took it in his stride. This time was different. This time he really would rather not have been the man in charge. Sure, he covered for vacations or weekends, that kind of thing, but he was very uncomfortable with the reasons he was covering now.

The whole base was uneasy because of O'Neill, and Eastman was no different. It stuck in his craw that the main reason he was here was because his CO was lying injured in hospital, particularly when no one yet knew if he would be all right.

O'Neill's XO, Jesse Ellis, would keep him apprised of the situation with O'Neill, but Eastman did not wish to hear bad news, or be its harbinger. If the news was good, he would be happy to shout about it through all the highways and byways of Cheyenne Mountain, but if it was not… Not only would most of the SGC be upset, but Eastman himself would be pretty darned pissed. He liked O'Neill.

"Where's the lieutenant?" he asked, referring to Lt. Baker, who should have been covering the control room.

Walter winced, hoping the colonel would not be angry. "I said he could go get something to eat, sir. That I would cover for him, as I'm here."

"Fine." Much to Walter's surprise, Eastman smiled, viewing him with a sympathetic eye. "Why don't you go home, sergeant?" the colonel suggested kindly.

"I'd rather wait here, sir."

"I understand," he replied compassionately, patting the sergeant on the shoulder. And he did understand. Eastman knew Harriman would hear any news of O'Neill faster here on the base than back at home. The sergeant was waiting. The colonel empathized with that loyalty and kind of envied O'Neill for inspiring it.

"Sit, sergeant."

"Yes, sir." Walter did as he as told, keeping a wary eye on his CO.

"He's a tough old bird. He'll be fine," the colonel said, attempting reassurance.

"Yes sir. I hope so, colonel."

Eastman sighed. "Yeah. We all do. The whole base is miserable. But all we can do is wait."

Walter said nothing, but detected the genuine concern for O'Neill in Eastman's demeanor. Maybe he was not such a bad guy, after all, he thought.

To his astonishment, Eastman sat down next to him, and the two men stared out at the Stargate in comradely silence for a while. Waiting. Waiting for news of their Commanding Officer.

TBC


	12. More Waiting for Jack

More Waiting for Jack

Title: More Waiting for Jack

Content Warnings: Themes of domestic and other violence. Language.

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine), Sam/Pete

Season: 8

Spoilers: None

Summary: "Between the wish and the thing, life lies waiting" Proverb

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2008 Su Freund

Author's Note: Eternal thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) who bets read this story and whose suggestions unerringly make my writing better. Also thanks to those people who are reading this story, and sending me the encouraging feedback that keeps my muse alive.

**More Waiting for Jack**

Pete Shanahan was slightly perturbed. He knew there might be a number of reasons why someone had attacked Jack O'Neill. It could be aliens, or a shady outfit in league with aliens, or something equally top secret. Therefore, strictly speaking the attack was none of his concern because of the national security implications. The FBI or NID or some other equally irksome organization would take the investigation out of his hands.

Or, it could be an aggrieved subordinate, past or present. O'Neill, after all, could be a very annoying man, he thought with amusement. Seriously, though, he figured the general had probably made many enemies during his career, as well as friends. If it was Air Force related, however, the attack was probably in the remit of military police rather than Colorado Springs PD.

No matter what the reason, or who investigated, the detective knew something that none of these other people knew. O'Neill's girlfriend's ex had beaten up on her and the man was out for revenge. No matter how long and hard he thought about it, the coincidental timing of the subsequent attack on O'Neill was just a little too much to be a fluke for his suspicious cop's mind. Only a couple of days before, Pete had passed on information to O'Neill that allowed him to locate his girlfriend's ex, and then this happened. Duh!

So, the apparent happenstance nagged at him, which was one reason he had argued with his captain that he should take the case. The two men had bickered about conflict of interest, the detective being Colonel Carter's fiance and all, but eventually Shanahan had persuaded his boss he was the best man for the job. His contacts in the Air Force, and inside Cheyenne Mountain, were an advantage to the investigation. Or it had seemed that way to his captain once Pete made his pitch.

Apart from that, Pete Shanahan was one of the best detectives they had down at the precinct. He knew it, and so did his captain. So he used that fact to his advantage.

Shanahan felt a little bit guilty in some ways. If his suspicions about this not being mere chance were right, he figured O'Neill might not have got himself into this situation if not for the role he had played in this whole mess. Pete had, after all, provided the general with information about his namesake's whereabouts.

If Rodgers was not going to get justice through a court of law, there were other ways in which to serve justice. Pete had no problem with that and had trusted O'Neill to do a good job and be careful. The man was trained to do harm, and covertly. Pete did not know much about the general's background, but he observed things. To the cop's sharp eyes, his demeanor told him a lot about the man - and his position as leader of SG-1 and then commander of the SGC certainly gave him a few clues.

Not that Shanahan was into vigilante type activities as such, but cops sometimes do favors for non cops. Quid pro quo. It could pay a cop huge dividends to hold a few markers and turn the occasional blind eye. But for Shanahan, doing O'Neill the favor he asked was not simply about the debt he now owed. His motives were far more complex.

Until now, he had not felt too guilty about stretching, if not breaking, the rules. Particularly as it meant O'Neill owed him a big one. Catherine's ex deserved a beating of his own and Pete supplied the information that would let Jack O'Neill carry out a fitting punishment. Sure, it was wrong but life is both a bitch and a bastard. Often, you had to be one or both of those things to beat the criminals of this world, and Pete so hated it when bad men got away with doing bad things.

The notion that O'Neill was seeking revenge on an abusive ex-husband had seemed okay because he hated those guys. They were sick violent bullies who preyed on those weaker than them because they could, and because they were those kinds of people.

The detective saw a lot of crap almost each and every day. Sometimes he felt like he was swimming against the tide, getting virtually nowhere fast. The bad stuff was endless, and cops tried hard but were unable to stem the flow. Okay, so Colorado Springs was hardly up there with the big cities of crime, but there was some dark stuff going on in its streets.

Then there was Sam. She was a ray of sunshine that lit that darkness for him. He loved her and felt obligations toward her friends. If they needed help, he would give it if he could. In O'Neill's case, he could so he did. Frankly, he admired the man's nerve in asking him for help in the first place. The more he learned about the general and got to know him, the more remarkable and intriguing he became. Someone worth having on your side.

Now the tables had turned and O'Neill was in hospital Pete kept pondering his decision to give O'Neill that information. He hoped to get the nasty pieces of work that had done it without also getting either himself or Jack O'Neill into trouble. Sam would so kill him if she knew he was involved, and that was just for starters.

On top of all that, Pete was surprised to find himself actually liking O'Neill. He was the kind of man who could grow on you - like a wart, perhaps, but that did not necessarily make him less likeable. So, the cop almost took this attack as a personal affront on someone who had the potential to be a friend, or a pal at least. He wanted to see the general get through it, and he wanted to get the people responsible. Lock 'em up and throw away the key.

Despite the role he had played, Shanahan's personal guilt about these events did not extend too far. He knew O'Neill would have found out about the ex anyway. He was a stubborn and determined man, and far from dumb. So if the ex was behind this, the attack probably would have happened anyway. Especially if O'Neill had been a target from the word go, as he speculated was possible.

The cop already knew a lot about the assault. More than most people, and enough to start putting two and two together.

He knew more because the police had a witness. Young Johnny James.

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Shanahan took a perverse kind of pleasure from the initial reactions to his arrival in the waiting room, particularly Sam's. She looked happy to see him, and that was something that would give him pleasure forever, he believed.

The cop was not there to see Sam, not unless she had something she could reveal about O'Neill's attack, which he doubted. But he knew she would be upset and worried about O'Neill, so he was not averse to the fact that his job and private life collided.

"Pete!" Sam exclaimed, moving toward him.

"Hi babe," he said, greeting her with a big smile.

"Wha…?" she asked. Her fiance was the last person she had expected to see tonight, but she was pleased he had come. His arrival made her feel slightly better, and the comfort of his arms around her while she was distressed about her CO could be a sanity saver right now.

"I'm sorry about O'Neill," he said. "I wouldn't have intruded, Sam, but I'm here on business. Though I guess that doesn't stop me from kissing my favorite girl, does it?" His grin broadened and he closed the gap between them, kissing her briefly on the lips. Even more briefly, his arm enfolded her and squeezed soothingly, but he quickly pulled back. "You okay?" he asked, searching her eyes.

"I'll feel much better when we get some good news about General O'Neill." She looked strained and worried. Pete wanted to pull her in his arms for a long reassuring hug, but it seemed inappropriate while he was there to investigate a case.

"Me too." He leaned into her ear and whispered so no one else could hear. "Sorry, honey. I wish I could stick around and talk, but duty calls. Talk later?" She nodded. One thing Sam knew plenty about was duty. So, although she longed for him to cuddle her, she did not resent his need to press on with work. She understood. "I'm looking for O'Neill's girlfriend. That her?" He indicated Catherine and Sam nodded again.

"So this is your case?" she asked, and Pete confirmed it, a fact that Sam found reassuring. She knew Pete was good at his job. One of the best. "I'll introduce you," she offered, leading him over to the others.

Although, Catherine's heart had leapt erratically at the mention of the name Pete, she quickly calmed down. She knew about Sam's fiance. Jack had filled her in. Now, as he approached, she figured she might have some things to tell him if he was investigating this case.

"Pete, this is General O'Neill's, um, girlfriend, Catherine Fellowes. Catherine, this is my fiance, Pete Shanahan. He's a police officer," said Sam.

"I know. Jack and I met during your engagement party."

While they shook hands, the detective acknowledged the presence of Daniel and Teal'c with a short glance and bob of his head. The two men stood, approaching, and he noticed the expectant looks on all of their faces. They wanted answers. Mostly, they wanted to know O'Neill was okay, but other answers might help until they got news.

Pete could not give them any. At least for now. The detective was in a difficult position. His fiance's involvement meant this was a more personal case than usual, but he was a cop. Unless and until he needed to, he would not share the details of his investigation with anyone, not even Sam.

He sighed heavily, knowing what he was about to say would please no one. Especially the woman he loved. "I can't tell you anything. Not yet." O'Neill's three friends gave him varying looks of irritation. "I need to speak to Ms Fellowes alone."

"Pete, we need to know what's going on!" Sam objected.

He looked at her sharply with a steely expression. "Sam, I promised not to interfere with your work again unless you asked. Please don't interfere with mine."

His rebuke took her by surprise, but she nodded agreement and backed off, feeling suitably chastised. Sam did not have to like it, but at heart she knew her fiance was right. He was a cop and she had to live with that, just as he had to live with her career choices. If they had not been able to agree about that, Sam would never have agreed to marry him. Pete knew she loved her job, and that it would come first for now.

He moved toward Catherine, planning to lead her out of the waiting room to a small room Jesse Ellis had found for him to use. As he opened his mouth to say something, Catherine spoke up before he uttered a single word.

"I bet the son of a bitch planned this," she said, not making her allegation very clear.

"Ma'am?" Pete queried, guessing she was referring to her ex but pretending he knew nothing about the background. Catherine appeared a little wobbly on her feet and he gently steadied her with a hand on her elbow. The three team mates said nothing and listened, letting the detective do his job, at least for now. "Who are you talking about?"

"Pete, my ex husband. He's behind this, I'm sure of it." Catherine clarified, the accusation endorsing Shanahan's working supposition. She started to sob, the bottled up emotions getting the better of her. "This is my fault."

"I think we need to discuss this elsewhere, ma'am," he replied and she eyed him hesitantly, then nodded acquiescence.

Sam glanced at Daniel, who could see the frustration on her face plain as the strip lighting overhead. Like the rest of them, Daniel knew she would wish to be a fly on the wall during this exchange, but it was not to be. Her team mate smiled faintly and moved to her side supportively, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze as they helplessly watched her fiance steer Catherine out of the room.

"Come on guys," Sam said with a calm she obviously did not feel. "Let's get some coffee."

Daniel chuckled. Her tone implied that coffee would fix everything and even an outright addict like him knew it would not. Then again, a small dose of caffeine never did anyone any harm, right?

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Johnny James might be a young boy, but he was a mine of useful information, supplying invaluable intel about the vehicle used by the perps, and its number plate. It turned out the truck belonged to local muscle for hire, Dave Shaw. Down at the precinct they called him Shady Shaw, rather than Sandy like the criminal's friends, and Shanahan's colleagues were trying to find him right now.

Shaw's arrogance was staggering. Shanahan was astonished that the man used his own vehicle while committing this crime. A lucky break. Some criminals were just so incredibly dumb they made catching them seem easy.

His fellow cops would find Shaw and all the men responsible sooner or later - probably sooner as a result of young Johnny's perfect recall. The boy's mug shot identification of Shaw was a clincher.

Johnny was a great kid with a child's ambition to become a cop. Sure, he had some overly romanticized notions about the job. Go figure, he was a kid and watched too much TV. Even so, he observed things other people might overlook, so Shanahan hoped this youthful desire would materialize into reality. They could do with more people like that on the force. His mother, however, obviously did not want that for Johnny and the detective guessed he could not blame her for this. There were easier, less dangerous and better paid jobs in abundance.

Mrs James was pissed with her son for going out alone while she was at work, and for getting himself involved with the police. She was particularly annoyed that her son was a key witness to a crime. Pete sympathized to some extent, but had to point out that she should not be leaving her son on his own in the first place. The boy was far too young to be fending for himself. The cop knew Johnny's mom had little choice, was a single parent bringing a kid up alone. His comment, however, shut her up and stopped her interfering with Shanahan and Johnny.

The boy, on the other hand, lapped it all up. Pete humored, encouraged and befriended him by escorting him around the precinct and showing him things young boys of his tender years did not normally get to see. It was the least he could do for the kid, he thought.

What he had not prepared himself for was a small case of hero worship. By the time his mother took him home, Pete Shanahan had become the cop Johnny wanted to emulate.

To Johnny, this was way better than anything he had ever seen on TV. This was real. He was an excited little boy who would sleep very little that Saturday night, despite anything his mom said.

His little chats with Johnny and his mom made Pete ponder. Why did anyone want to become a cop? In fact, why had he become a cop? If he was honest, Pete was not entirely sure anymore, about either why he started or why he continued. He was good at it, and maybe he even liked it from time to time, but he wondered if that was enough.

Kids like Johnny gave him hope. That helped. A chink of light in the ever increasing darkness. Pete had to hang onto stuff like that because sometimes his work was just so darned disheartening.

Shanahan had one small problem with Johnny as an eyewitness. He had not seen the perps lay a finger on O'Neill, only dump him amongst the trash. He needed more than this because he figured the attackers could weave some sort of fabrication around this fact - with the help of clever lawyers, possibly hired by the wealthy Peter Rodgers. Not that they would necessarily get away with their crime, but this was always a possibility. Any case tried through a court of law benefited from solid facts. The more evidence the better.

This was all assuming his suspicions were correct, of course - that Rodgers had paid these men to seize and rough up O'Neill. Shanahan was confident they would find proof that was more conclusive. And if they found the men responsible, there were smart ways of making them talk and turn against each other.

Local forensic guys were going over the ground in the alley in minute detail, and had O'Neill's clothing to examine too. But, the alley was not the location of O'Neill's attack. They had dumped him there but beat the living daylights out of him elsewhere. It would help to find the crime scene.

All in good time, he hoped. He would get the bastards who had done this!

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Now they were alone, Pete Shanahan was able to turn his full attentions to Catherine and he spoke encouragingly, in hushed and sympathetic tones. "Did your ex do this to you, ma'am?" he asked indicating her bruises, as if he did not already know.

"Yes," she confirmed through her sobs, emphasizing the verification with a nod of her head. Pete waited patiently until she was ready to continue. "He-he used to do it a lot when we were married… Then, a few days ago, in my apartment… He wrecked some stuff too."

When she failed to continue, Shanahan prompted her. "And?"

"I don't want to get Jack into any trouble," she stated. Catherine was thinking she should say less about her theory than she had started out to. Could she inadvertently cause problems for Jack?

"You think O'Neill did something I should be worrying about?" Pete asked innocently.

"I don't know," she replied with a sigh. "He was pretty pissed about what Pete did, although he tried not to show it for my sake. Maybe he was looking for revenge, or maybe Pete was looking for him. Hired some thugs and…" She shrugged helplessly. "It's the kind of thing Pete might do. Poor Jack!" Catherine sniffed, then she started crying again and Shanahan gave her hand a compassionate squeeze of support.

Looking at Catherine's swollen blackened face, he wondered what other damage her vicious ex had done. Then, he began to think he had been right to help O'Neill after all, in principle anyway. Perhaps he could now use this situation to his advantage.

Peter Rodgers deserved to go down for committing violent crimes against both Catherine Fellowes and O'Neill. At least he was guessing this is what had happened to O'Neill. Right now, this genuinely was mere guess work. A hunch. Catherine Fellowes' conjecture supported Shanahan's gut feelings but her theories were no more than intuition either. They had a witness, sure, but the James boy did not know names, only faces, and he was just a kid.

If Catherine Fellowes would file a complaint against Rodgers' abuse, and testify, he thought it might go a long way toward helping them get this guy. He knew from what O'Neill had said that she had not wanted the police involved, but if Rodgers really was responsible for hurting her boyfriend, he might persuade her.

"What makes you think this was down to your ex, ma'am? This could all be a coincidence. Isn't it a bit of a leap?" he asked in a soothing rather than confrontational manner, reaching into a pocket for the tissues he always carried for such circumstances and handing her one.

Catherine snuffled, wiped her eyes and nose and looked him squarely in the eyes. "He's done this kind of thing before," she confessed.

"Beat you up?"

"That too." She was calmer now, gaining confidence and feeling better able to speak out. "But I mean hiring men to do his dirty work. Occasionally. When we were married, he hated men who looked at me in any way he didn't like. More than one of them ended up getting assaulted. Pete is a thug himself, but a cowardly one. He might watch and join in, but that's why he pays other thugs to do what he is too afraid to do himself. The bastard would gloat about it sometimes and then push me around. As if it was my fault someone looked at me like that. Apparently, I encouraged them."

She eyed Shanahan with a wry expression. "I was an easy target. A possession he could do whatever he wanted to. I let him, that's the stupid thing. I let him. Then, one day, I stopped letting him. People who can fight back scare him. That's how I got out and stayed out. But he used to be a jealous and sick man. That hasn't changed I guess." Catherine faltered briefly, pulling her eyes away from Pete's, apparently to study her feet studiously.

"He doesn't really want me anymore, even though he says he does," she continued. "In truth, I'm spoiled goods as far as he's concerned. But no one else can have me. He's that kind of guy. I thought he was over that, but don't think so now. Not after this. Too much of a coincidence." Pete, of course, agreed, but said nothing. "I think maybe he came after Jack because he hated me being with him or the thought that I might be happy. Maybe used me to bait a trap, like he's done before. That's the way I figure it."

"Did you ever tell O'Neill about these, um, other men your husband assaulted?" Pete queried, wondering if the general had known what he might get himself into. If Ms Fellowes knew this about her husband, she probably should have warned O'Neill, so why hadn't she?

Catherine slowly shook her head. "That's why it's my fault, don't you see?" Her tone held a large measure of self-rebuke. "He knows about Pete beating up on me, but not the rest. Perhaps I should have told him, b-but…" She sighed and paused, apparently brooding. "We're both pretty good at keeping secrets. Too good, maybe. I don't like talking about my past much. And to be honest, I didn't think the bastard would do that to Jack."

This time her pause was so lengthy Shanahan thought she had stopped talking, so he urged her on. "Why not, ma'am?"

"As far as I know, he's never done that to any other, um, man friend I've had since moving to the Springs. I thought he'd given up on me altogether until recently. I guess when Jack and I bumped into him in New York… well, it might have made him mad."

Shanahan knew nothing about their trip to New York, so had to ask, and Catherine quickly explained. About the dinner, about how her ex had behaved toward her.

"Did O'Neill and your husband have a fight?" Pete asked.

"They had a few words. Nothing I'd call a fight."

To be honest, Catherine did not know what had really happened during their confrontation in the men's room, and she did not want to. Mentioning it might get Jack into trouble for all she knew, so she didn't. She was wishing they had never gone to New York. If they hadn't, she and Jack would probably be safely tucked up in bed at home.

Catherine dearly wanted Jack safe – well and whole again. She longed for that more than anything.

"Why Jack and not your other boyfriends?"

"Good question, detective," she looked up at him and smiled faintly then shrugged as if she did not know. "Perhaps he figured out Jack is special to me, more serious than the others. Maybe seeing me again sparked him off. Maybe both. Wish I knew. But, after what happened in my apartment, I thought he was after me, not Jack. Just to remind me of his power. Just to keep me looking over my shoulder. If I'd known this might happen I would have warned Jack. You think I wouldn't have?"

Pete did not reply, thinking she had to work that guilt out for herself. From what he surmised about the general, it probably would not have made any difference if she had warned him. That, however, was for O'Neill to say, not him.

"But you have no proof he was behind O'Neill's attack?"

She shook her head ruefully. "I wish I could help, but I can't."

"You might be able to help more than you think," he said, but she did not respond, so he continued on a different tack. "The kid who found O'Neill clearly saw the faces of the men who dumped him. We assume these men were his assailants. He identified one of them from mug shots. Local muscle who hires out his services. We're looking for him now. The kid says there were four of them. One of them watched over the others so might be the person who hired them, which sounds like your ex's MO. The kid might be able to ID the rest of them too, including your ex. I guess you will have a photo at home we can show him?"

He coaxed her gently and kindly, providing lots of time for her to cry, recover, think and then answer his questions. By the time they had finished, Catherine was ready to make a formal complaint against her ex husband, and testify. She wanted to get the man who had arranged to hurt O'Neill even if she was unwilling to take that step for her own benefit. Shanahan was pleased with the result. Truth will out, he thought, or most of it anyway.

But he was still bothered about O'Neill. The cop had seen people die from internal bleeding before - too many times for his liking, actually. In fact, even once was too many times as far as he was concerned. He strongly disliked death, particularly when a bunch of no good bad guys dealt the fatal blows. This was one of the reasons he had become a cop in the first place, he remembered – to even up the odds a little.

Pete sincerely hoped it was not too late for O'Neill but, simply put, he knew it was not possible to save everyone. People die. So, the wellbeing of Sam's commanding officer continued to trouble him. In fact, it troubled him quite a lot. Meanwhile, as they continued to wait for news, he had a job to do. And so far, he figured he was doing okay with that.

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Walter Harriman stretched and yawned. He had been awake most of the night but only now was he beginning to feel that lack of sleep. He was not the only one. Everyone remaining at the SGC had been living off coffee to stay awake. Coffee and cakes from the commissary, so mostly they had been hyperactive for much of the night.

But caffeine and sugar fixes were not enough, however delicious the cakes were. They were literally that, fixes. What they all really needed was sleep.

"How you feeling sergeant?" Colonel Eastman asked, eyeing him with suppressed amusement as Harriman tried to stifle his yawns and feign alertness.

Their long vigil had started in the gateroom but, apart from the duty gate technician, most of the remaining SG staffers had decamped to the commissary to await any news. Walter had patched the colonel's telephone through so they did not miss any important calls from the hospital or elsewhere. And they continued to wait.

Their numbers had grown through the night, and their commissary take-over had become informal in nature, with the normally overly serious Eastman relaxing his stick up the ass attitude to suit the occasion. Good for morale, he thought, something O'Neill himself might have done - and he was right.

Colonel Eastman had gone up in Harriman's estimation that was for sure. Everyone else's too, it seemed. The colonel had positively encouraged them to raid the cake supplies illicitly and joined in with the banter.

The atmosphere varied between the heavily laden could not cut it with a knife kind to the lighthearted loosen up the mood type, swinging wildly from one hour to the next.

Walter could have sworn it was Eastman who started the paper plane wars, which raged childishly for at least half an hour. So, when staff arrived for the new duty shift they were taken aback to find the paper missiles flying around the commissary and the occupants seemingly high on something - Lord knows what.

One might never have guessed that these people had been waiting anxiously all night for news about O'Neill. It was like being greeted by a bunch of overgrown and rowdy kids in kindergarten, all running wild on a sugar high.

They had calmed down now, exhausted, in need of a nutritious breakfast and a few hours sleep. A number of off duty personnel huddled in small groups, whispering in hushed tones more befitting to the seriousness of their thirst for news.

"Tired, sir," Walter responded honestly to his CO's question.

Eastman stared at him momentarily. "When's your shift start, Walter?"

Harriman glanced at his watch, way more relaxed in the presence of his acting CO than he had ever imagined he could become. "An hour ago, sir." Shit! He promptly stood up, readying himself to go splash water in his face and attend to his duties. Lt Baker would be waiting for him to take over in the gateroom.

Eastman held up a halting hand. "Sit down sergeant," he said. "Someone else can take your shift for a while."

"Sir?" Walter eyed the colonel dubiously.

"You need sleep, Walter. Can't have you falling asleep on duty now, can we?" The colonel's tone was kindly and understanding.

"Lt Baker, sir…"

Eastman waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "I'll handle it. You go get some shut eye in one of the VIP rooms."

Walter appreciated the offer, but the uncertain look remained. "Um, I think I'd rather stay awake for now if it's all the same to you, sir."

His CO nodded slowly. "I'm not sure if it is all the same to me, sergeant," he replied in the kind of acid tone that sent shivers down Harriman's spine, reminding him this was the man in charge. The same man he had been so wary and uncertain of last night. Then Eastman sighed. "I'm sure we'll hear something soon," he added in a low whisper. The sergeant looked at him hesitantly, uncertain what he should do.

Then the phone rang.

Its ring seemed loud and intrusive, instilling fear and dread into the room's occupants. Fear and dread of bad news.

The whole room fell silent and turned their attention to Eastman, who looked slightly diffident and nervous about picking it up. After a few seconds, he got up and went to answer, speaking in muted tones to whoever was on the other end. The others strained to hear, but could not, and they gleaned no hints from the colonel's demeanor or tenor.

Eastman replaced the receiver on its cradle and slowly turned to face his men, a serious expression on his face. The room's occupants seemed to draw in one collective breath and hold it while they waited for him to speak.

"Colonel Ellis from the hospital. He has some news…"

TBC


	13. Jack Hammered!

Author's note (Wednesday 2 July 2008): Having heard about the untimely death of Don S Davis late on Monday, I delayed posting this story out of respect for his passing. His is a sad loss - much too fast and way too young. His family, friends and fans will surely miss him. God speed, Don!

Title: Jack Hammered!

Category: Angst/Romance/Drama/Whumping

Content Level: Age 13+

Content Warnings: Themes of domestic and other violence. Language.

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine), Sam/Pete

Season: 8

Spoilers: Anything up to and including S8

Summary: Outside of a certain city hospital, it was an average Sunday with people going about their usual Sunday type routine. Yet inside, the seemingly endless Saturday night had been far from normal, at least for some.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2008 Su Freund

More Author's Notes:

1. Many thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for checking over this story for me, and her great advice. Definitely above and beyond the call of duty, given she had so little time for various reasons. If any errors remain, they are all mine.

2. Thanks also to all of you who have been reading and enjoying this series and have told me so. Your comments feed my muse and I am sincerely grateful to receive them.

3. Finally, abject apologies for the bad pun used in the title of this chapter groan Irresistible, I'm afraid! :-)

**Jack Hammered!**

It was the early hours of the morning and the sun had come up. Saturday night had been a very long one indeed, but now it was Sunday. Birds sang, newspapers got delivered, and it would not be too long before bells rang in churches throughout Colorado Springs. Outside of a certain city hospital, it was an average Sunday with people going about their usual Sunday type routine. Yet inside, the seemingly endless Saturday night had been far from normal, at least for some.

Take Colonel Jesse Ellis of the SGC, for example. His job through that long night had definitely not been typical of his Saturdays. Ordinarily he might be sitting in front of the TV watching a movie. Or possibly, when it was his turn for them to stop over, he would be entertaining his kids. Or perhaps out with the guys having fun like your average footloose divorcee probably should. Or, if he was very lucky, he could have been in bed sleeping soundly.

But had Jesse been doing any of these things? Hell, no. Not a solitary one. And either sleeping or playing had been the last things on his mind. Any one of those other pursuits might have been preferable to his duties that night. The interminable hours had been stressful and worrisome.

Despite all that, however, Jesse was pleased he was there instead of doing any of those normal things. In fact, he wanted to be there. Because there was where the boss was, and the colonel would do whatever he could to ensure the continued wellbeing of General Jack O'Neill.

Now, for once, he was not playing avoidance of the waiting room. It held no fear for him anymore. He knew most of its occupants had disappeared back to their hotel rooms or homes, giving up on hanging around, instead relying on him to call with news. Not SG-1 or Catherine Fellowes, of course. They still waited, forlornly clinging to hope, desperate to know what was happening with O'Neill. They were the people Ellis most cared about keeping informed.

For a refreshing change, he strode purposefully toward the waiting room, a spring in his step and a smile plastered all over his delighted face. News at last. Good news – or at least positive rather than dreadful - and he would be the man who got the pleasure and privilege of delivering it.

'Halleluiah!' thought Jesse. 'What a great way to start Sunday morning.' Later, he would try to attend his local church and praise the Lord, like he tried to each and every Sunday if he could. And on this particular Sunday, he would have more reason to praise him than on most. God had answered his prayers. The general was going to be okay.

Jack O'Neill had suffered harm, been hurt badly, and it had been touch and go for a while. He would endure pain before he healed, and need recovery time, but he had lived through his operation. It had been a success. Doc Brightman, whose opinion Ellis trusted, had confirmed the hospital's positive prognosis. So unless something unforeseen happened it was very likely he would continue to live for a great many years to come.

"Amen to that," Jesse muttered under his breath.

He knew O'Neill's friends would have questions. This was inevitable. Jesse did as well so he may or may not have the answers they sought. When it came down to it, though, like him they would simply be relieved and happy the general pulled through. Both the questions and answers would wait.

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The waiting room was silent, almost peaceful. Having pulled an all-nighter, the remaining occupants were exhausted from a combination of lack of sleep and agitated waiting. Most conversation had ceased a while ago and the room settled into an atmosphere of quiet unease.

Daniel Jackson was wishing he had one of Jack's yoyos. He supposed that would probably have irritated Sam as much as his earlier pacing had, but he felt a need to better occupy his hands. He had developed an overnight appreciation for Jack's constant fidgeting, thought he understood where it might come from. Nervous energy, detracting from his feelings, a cover. As it was, Daniel's hands were in almost constant movement - kneading, thumbs tapping a rhythm together or twisting around each other.

Although she could see Daniel out of the corner of her eye, Carter tried to ignore him. His restless hand movements were getting her down, but she said nothing. He was beginning to remind her of the general with that continual squirming – sheesh! Her fiance had joined them earlier and one of his arms looped around her in a comforting embrace. Her head rested on his shoulder. It was soothing and well needed.

Detective Pete Shanahan was off duty now. He had done almost everything he could do for the moment. He had one of Catherine's photographs of her ex and would pay a visit to young Johnny in the hope of receiving verification of his involvement in this debacle. That, however, would wait until later on in the morning.

He figured Mrs James would dig her heels in if he turned up at their door at an inhospitable hour. Johnny was an important witness. The youngster might be eager to help, but Pete needed his mother's cooperation too. He did not wish to provoke or alienate her. So, he would hold off asking Johnny to look at the photograph of Peter Rodgers and hopefully ID him as one of the men he had seen in the alley.

Currently, Shanahan centered his main hopes on getting an opportunity to talk to O'Neill. He had some questions that required answers only the general might be able to provide – if he recovered sufficiently to provide them.

Taking some time to support a distraught Sam was important to him. Just as important to Pete as his investigation. So he took that time, returning to the hospital to be there with her after having done some more work. He was making progress. More progress than he might with other similar investigations, so Shanahan was content for the moment.

Catherine Fellowes, meanwhile, was slightly twitchy. She wanted to cooperate with the police, wanted to find Jack's attackers, wanted to see them punished. But she was scared - for Jack, for herself, for the future. She thought the scared of her husband feeling had disappeared a while ago and the fact she now knew it had not, unnerved her.

The idea of giving evidence with him sitting right there in court made her feel nauseous, but she would do it. Maybe it would help exorcise her demons. And with Jack supporting her, Catherine felt she might be capable of almost anything.

She was an accomplished, independent woman on her own, Catherine knew. Had been before Jack, would be afterwards. Despite the experiences with her husband, the fear lurking deep in her gut, she did all right by herself. More than all right.

Jack's support, however, was a big positive. But what if he was not there? What if Jack…? She did not even want to go there. She was desperate for news. Good news about Jack.

Earlier that night, Catherine had reluctantly accompanied the police detective back to her apartment, handing over a picture of her ex. She had not wanted to leave the hospital until she heard something about Jack's condition, but she knew Pete Shanahan needed to investigate, needed evidence and witnesses. He had dropped her back at the hospital and then driven off into the night to do heaven knows what. Investigating something, she guessed. Something to do with what had happened to Jack.

Maybe everything would become clearer with time. For now, she was too exhausted and befuddled to worry too much more about anything but her hopes for Jack.

Teal'c was Teal'c - a solid, seemingly tranquil presence in the midst of high tension. His eyes were closed as if in kelno'reem, but he was not. Aware of his friends' anxiety, however, he was blocking out any other distractions, his mind occupied with comforting thoughts of revenge.

As Colonel Ellis entered, they all looked up expectantly and the room's atmosphere changed immediately. The quiet unease turned to palpable relief and then excited twittering and they all rose from their chairs and surrounded O'Neill's Executive Officer.

Sure, they had questions, but Jesse's broad smile told them almost everything they wanted to know.

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Ellis knew his next big problem was going to be how to handle visitors. The whole world and his dog seemed to want a piece of O'Neill. Once he came round sufficiently, unwanted guests could inundate the general - people seeking answers, which meant questions and more questions. It was Jesse's job to protect his boss, and this was something he would do with single-minded determination.

Cops, Feds, MPs, NID and assorted government types. Screw the lot of them! He was in charge here, along with the hospital authorities. He needed to have another word with them, he thought. Concoct a plan of action, get them on his side. Crowd control.

O'Neill required rest, not an influx of people poking their noses into the private corners of his life. The general was a very private man. Sure, this attack needed investigation. Sure, they had to guarantee there were no security issues arising from the incident - or further threats to the general himself. This did not, however, mean a zillion people needed personal access to O'Neill. Not if his Executive Officer had anything to do with it.

Jesse was thinking that once he had sorted this mess out, maybe he could get someone in to relieve him for a while. Go to church as he wished and thank God for answering those prayers of his. So having considered his options, the colonel went to speak to the hospital powers that be. Then he returned to the waiting room to have a quiet word with Sam Carter's fiance, Detective Pete Shanahan.

He had a plan and he was certain the cop would go along with it. Most of these interested parties were unknown quantities to Ellis, but Shanahan seemed to have his head screwed on straight. Sam Carter was an intelligent woman and if she trusted him, Jesse believed he probably could too. Time to put some wheels into motion.

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Fuzzy. Good word fuzzy. O'Neill had experienced it many times and could think of a lot of other appropriate words to describe the feeling. Vague, misty, bleary, hazy, blurry, unclear, even nebulous. Being fond of the simple, he kind of liked fuzzy.

A thick layer of fog encased his brain and his mouth felt like the ass end of the universe. He knew this because he had visited that ass end many times, both literally and figuratively. Then, as he became increasingly alert, Jack realized he was in pain too. He began to wonder which train he had walked under. Must have been an express.

"Crap!" he exclaimed, uncertain whether he had uttered it aloud or even voiced it at all.

He was vaguely thinking he ought to be adventurous and open his eyes, risk the intrusion of light that would probably make his brain explode. That was if he could think at all – and if he could prize open those gummed up gritty eyelids.

"Nah," he muttered. Why bother? Takes too much effort.

"General O'Neill?"

'Wha…?' Jack thought as the sound slowly seeped into the cotton balls he called a brain… a voice? The voice seemed to come at him from miles away, a whisper on the wind. Indistinct. Was it real? General O'Neill? Who he? He had the vaguest feeling that was him, but was not at all sure.

Maybe he should make that effort after all. Check it out.

Cracking open even just the one eye seemed impossible. Until it happened. The glue keeping his lids sealed up tight seemed to take an age to become unstuck. Once his eye opened, the light made him wince and suck in a breath outwardly as well as scream inwardly. Head detonation – pyrotechnics!

Quickly closing it again to ward off the less than appealing fireworks, he took a few determined breaths before trying for a second time. A strain and no better but he forced it to stay open this time, attempting to focus, to concentrate.

Then he slowly opened the other eye. Much to his relief the action failed to light the fuse on yet more rockets flashing inside his head. At least it was no worse.

What he saw, however, confused his bewildered and throbbing head even further.

It was not mere coincidence that Pete Shanahan was the first person to meet Jack's eyes when he finally woke from that long sleep. Nor was it Pete's fault. Pete had no doubt that Sam would be pissed he was sitting there while she and the rest of O'Neill's friends continued to wait. Tough. Pete was a cop. He was doing his job.

On the other hand, his face probably had not been the one O'Neill would have wished to wake up to. No sirree.

Jack murmured something groggily, but his throat was parched and it came out sounding like an incoherent grunt.

"W-wat…? He managed to croak after some effort. His mouth felt as dry as Death Valley and the temperature of his body seemingly just as hot. He ached. Ached was not the word, but he did not think there was likely to be a word that could describe his heap of pain. "M-morph…?" he added forlornly.

Jack could have sworn his words were an indecipherable babble. Surely, no man could speak with a mouth as dry as that. Shanahan, however, seemed to understand him and he chuckled. Ack! Chuckling at a sick man in pain. Wrong on sooo many levels, Jack thought.

"Water," he gasped again, pleased with himself because he had managed to form a word.

"I'll call a nurse," Shanahan said with a grin. "She'll bring you some ice chips."

O'Neill did not react, simply staring at Pete with a puzzled, pained expression, as if he had no idea what was going on, which he probably didn't. The cop pressed the buzzer for a nurse and they did not wait long before one bustled in.

It seemed like an age to Jack, though. His throat was red raw and when he swallowed he could have sworn it was on fire. By the time his nurse sorted out some of the basic checks on her patient and fed him an ice chip or two, Jack desperately needed the cooling liquid to quench the flames.

As the ice melted down his throat, Jack allowed himself to relax and let the nurse finish whatever she had to do. The arctic water was a relief and he was beginning to feel a whole lot better. Kind of. There was that pain thing, and the fuzzy thing, and the catheter he could feel intruding in his most intimate parts, and the relatively unwelcome presence of Pete Shanahan… and… and the pain thing. Crap!

At least he felt slightly more with it, although O'Neill still was not certain about what the hell was happening. Whether he was asleep and dreaming or awake and in some awful alternate reality he wished he could find a way home from.

Jack tried to be stoical about pain but if he was honest, he was heartily fed up with being on its receiving end. That should surely be one of the advantages of being a general. He could sit on his butt all day and let other people take the heat for a change.

Not that this was what O'Neill really believed, he missed the action after all. However, right then and there with his ribs and chest aching like hell and much of the rest of him feeling as if it had been squashed by a steamroller, he thought he could live without it.

Now he comprehended he was indeed this General O'Neill person, Jack realized he had probably had worse. This fact did not make him feel any better about how much it hurt now.

The nurse indicated the morphine and placed the dosing apparatus in his hand, explaining all the usual gobbledygook about dosage limits and the rest. Jack was hardly listening because he was more concerned with killing the pain. Besides, he had been through this rigmarole before. It was all coming back to him now and he took no great pleasure in the recall.

Ah, sweet morphine… nice if you can get it, he thought, taking immediate advantage of its availability.

One thing you can say about morphine is that it works. While dosed up on it, you didn't give a shit about much else, but at least you did not hurt like all the furies in hell were thrashing you from the inside out.

Shanahan had been hanging back to allow the nurse to work, providing required privacy. Then she went away muttering something about the doctor and Pete pulled a chair up close to the bed and sat down, leaning over Jack to talk in a low tone.

"Pleased to see you're still with us," he said.

Jack felt the muscles of his face pull themselves into an involuntary but faint smile. "Me too," he agreed. "Hospital?"

Pete nodded and O'Neill figured he might have got a clue from the nurse, but this was not the SGC infirmary. The surroundings were way too bright and cheerful, the nurse unfamiliar. He had almost forgotten what a real hospital was like. Filled with strangers with an atmosphere he was no longer used to. Ack! He was not a happy camper. No, not at all.

"What you…?" Forming words was an effort, so Jack pointed at Pete to indicate his meaning - what are you doing here?

"Cop duty."

"Ah!" Jack looked slightly discomforted by this fact.

"You look like shit, O'Neill."

Blunt and to the point. Nice! Thanks a lot. Jack had no doubt Shanahan was right. Certainly if he looked even half as bad as he felt. But he was not sure he appreciated the comment right now.

"Sho… see… other guy," he retorted wryly, even more self-satisfied because he had managed nearly a whole sentence.

Pete grinned at the remark. It seemed O'Neill had not totally lost all of his faculties. Not if he could make a crack like that. "What do you remember?" he asked.

Jack paused, thinking. "Light. Fog…" His words petered out "Gi' me… minute…"

Pete nodded affably, sitting back in his chair. "All the time in the world, pal."

Closing his eyes again, Jack hazily wondered when Carter's fiance had started thinking of him as a pal and then about whether he was simply being ironic. This was a delusion, right? Or the morphine was working its dreamy magic. He didn't much care which. In fact, he didn't much care about anything. Sweet!

Meanwhile, Pete waited patiently. He knew he did not really have all the time in the world, but he probably had enough. O'Neill needed to get his head together, and this was fine by him. Although he was not certain how possible it was going to be for a man dosed up on morphine.

Shanahan, however, knew he would get O'Neill's side of the story before anyone else. Almost exclusively, actually. He and Colonel Ellis had come to an arrangement in association with the hospital staff. The detective wanted access to O'Neill and Ellis wanted to protect his CO from the ravening horde.

So, with a few notable exceptions, the detective was the only "official" visitor allowed in to see O'Neill. From what the police had learned so far, this was their investigation and unless and until evidence to the contrary was uncovered, it would stay that way. SGC and hospital staff would keep the Feds and everyone else away. They would have to feast on the scraps of the Colorado Springs PD table.

The SGC's own investigation team was in on it, of course. Ellis would not countenance their exclusion. But Shanahan would be the main man and pass on the knowledge he gleaned from O'Neill.

This was an unusual arrangement in the circumstances, perhaps. But the hospital authorities were willing. They wanted minimum of fuss, and said O'Neill needed peace and quiet for successful recovery, which was at least partly true. It covered Ellis' ass anyway. Sam, Catherine Fellowes and the rest would get their turn as O'Neill's closest friends.

Shanahan realized some of the government types might not be happy with this arrangement. But as Ellis had said, screw 'em. Apparently, the colonel had cleared this plan at a much higher level than any of those guys could aspire to. Ellis was happy to run interference. It was part of his job, and Pete got the impression the man thought very highly of O'Neill so would be more than willing to take it in the neck for him if necessary. Probably already did on a daily basis, he figured.

A couple of security guys from the SGC stood guard outside and knew who they should let pass and who they should not. For now, the list of visitors allowed inside was extremely short.

"So, general, are you getting anything?" Pete asked after a hugely long silence. "How about I ask you questions and you just nod or shake your head?"

A bleary eyed O'Neill peered at him woozily, thinking if he nodded and shook his head it might actually detonate or possibly just fall off. This might, however, be easier to cope with than attempting to get his mouth to form real words. For a moment, it seemed like he was struggling to remember who Pete was and then he nodded acquiescence.

The dizzy nausea arising from this movement was the polar opposite of an enjoyable experience, but Jack forced himself to handle it. He had been down this road before, had lots of practice. Minus the cop, admittedly, but he would deal. It was the right thing to do and O'Neill knew quite a bit about doing the right thing.

"Was it your girlfriend's ex?" Shanahan asked.

Jack appeared to consider this for a moment and nodded, holding up some fingers. Two hands worth of them. Pete figured he was trying to indicate there were others involved and how many, but from what young Johnny had said he knew that number was way wrong. He wondered if O'Neill was trying to crack a self-mocking joke, deliberately exaggerating. The corners of the general's mouth turned up into a small smile. Sure, a joke.

"Three oth… I… th…" he muttered with a slur.

'Damned morphine!' Pete cursed inwardly, although O'Neill's figures seemed to tally with the James boy's account, so maybe he was not totally out of it after all.

Consequently, his interrogation continued. Shanahan tried to phrase questions that were easy to answer. O'Neill nodded or shook his head and inserted the occasional short comment or wry quip. Haltingly slurring his words, but just about comprehensible. Bit by bit, Pete built up a picture of events and it was pretty much as he had envisaged.

In a nutshell, O'Neill went looking for his girlfriend's ex just as Shanahan had predicted, but Rodgers was waiting. Expected him, it seemed. His hired thugs jumped him, taking the general by surprise. O'Neill was outnumbered and Rodgers' men armed.

It seemed O'Neill figured Rodgers might have planned the assault from the start. Catherine Fellowes' ex had attacked her at least in part to bait O'Neill and lure the general into seeking him out. Then he sprung his trap. An ambush. Watching, waiting, believing O'Neill would seek revenge, would come and find him. And it worked. It certainly fit with what Catherine had revealed to Shanahan about her ex husband.

Rodgers had outsmarted O'Neill and the cop thought this had pissed him off big time. He was probably the kind of man that normally did most of the outsmarting, Pete reflected. Only very smart men got to be generals in the United States Air Force. Man, it must rankle!

O'Neill was stoic about it, though, and self-effacing. More than willing to deride himself. He obviously knew he had screwed up. SNAFU, he had muttered at one point – situation all fouled up, to put it in a polite vernacular.

Pete was amazed at how easily the man managed to convey his meaning with so few words, and the odd nod, shake, facial expression or gesticulation.

It was clear that the general had not stood much of a chance, although Pete imagined he would have tried to put up a fight. As much as a man could against armed crooks. Men like O'Neill do not simply allow themselves to be taken or beaten half to death. Not without a struggle. This probably made the beating all the worse for him, Pete thought.

Apparently, they threw him in the back of a truck and trussed him up like a turkey at Thanksgiving. Then they took him off somewhere private where they could kick the shit out of him to their heart's content. No witnesses, no one to hear his agonized screams.

Afterwards, they tossed him in the truck again like a hunk of dead meat and dumped him in the alley, leaving him to rot. Probably to die, actually. After all, if not for the immediate intervention of Johnny James, Jack O'Neill would likely be dead. Murder one, bang to rights.

When the two men had finished their half-baked but useful attempt at communication, O'Neill was exhausted and Pete ready to leave him in peace. The detective eyed the general with sympathy. The man needed to rest.

Jack had been fighting the effects of the morphine throughout the interrogation and it was trying to claim him. He realized he should sleep, the opiate told him so, but instead he continued to fight. He needed something and wanted to stay awake for it.

"Ca…rine here?" he asked, his rasping voice almost a whisper.

Pete smiled warmly. "Sure. She's been here all night. If the doc will let me, I'll bring her in."

Jack felt a warm glow at the notion of seeing her. Or maybe it was the influence of the numbing narcotic. He chuckled internally at his little joke and sighed. "I-I… like that."

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With barely suppressed anticipation, Catherine hurried to Jack's room. One of the SF's guarding him examined her briefly and solemnly before letting her in. She was on Colonel Ellis' list.

"Jack!" she cried out softly as she entered, rushing to his bedside but coming to an abrupt halt when she reached it. His eyes were closed and he looked peaceful, but his bruises kind of ruined the tranquil image. The flesh beneath them looked pale and sickly and Catherine hitched a breath at the sight.

She had not really prepared herself for how dire he might look. She had considered death and all kinds of terrible things, but not this dreadful countenance. His handsome face battered and blackened and who knew what lay hidden under the bed covers.

Her heart stuttered when he failed to respond and she watched for a short while to make sure he was breathing, relieved to see the regular rise and fall of his chest. Then she sat on the chair beside the bed and leaned closer, whispering.

"Jack." A small tear trickled down her cheek and very gently, Catherine brushed his face with the tips of her fingers. "I'm here Jack," she said, moving her hand to grasp one of his. "I'm here."

He was alive. But it seemed he was asleep. The morphine had got the better of him at last.

TBC


	14. Jack's Big Sleep

Jacks Big Sleep

Title: Jack's Big Sleep

Category: Angst/Romance/Drama/Whumping

Content Warnings: Themes of domestic and other violence. Language.

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine), Sam/Pete

Season: 8

Spoilers: Anything up to and including S8

Summary: Danger, he could sense it. Danger and death. It came for him.

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2008 Su Freund

Author's Notes: Many thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for picking over this story and saving me from making the odd blunder. Any remaining errors are entirely down to me. Thanks also to those people who are enjoying this series and tell me so. Your words of encouragement keep me going! :-)

**Jack's Big Sleep**

_Danger, he could sense it. Danger and death. It came for him. _

_Keep going. Gotta keep going. Gotta to find them. Gotta save them._

_It was dark as __ebony, cloud cover obscuring any hope of a shimmering silver moon to help light the way. A damp mist penetrated his clothing and he shivered, its scent in his nostrils reminiscent of death and decay._

_The haze hung menacingly in the air, seemingly unmoved by the chill breeze. He wished for a gust of wind to blow it away, but realized this was not going to happen. That was not the way of this place. The planet seemed designed to remind a man of his mortality. Forbidding and bleak._

_Rocks and debris littered the earth, large strange shapes jutting out threateningly in the oppressive gloom. O'Neill had lost his flashlight a ways back. He was stumbling forward almost blindly; barely able to see his hands in front of him let alone find his way safely through this perilous obstacle course. _

_But he had to continue. He had to find them. Find a safe haven. Find peace. _

_O'Neill had been running, hiding and searching for a very long time. Too long. _

_Fatigue was his enemy. One amongst many, but potentially deadly by itself. _

_Despite the cold, he was sweating. O'Neill turned up the collar of his jacket and removed his cap, wiping his brow and pulling it back on tighter over his head, pressing on with his search. _

_As time passed, he grew more desperate, more helpless, more fearful. Hope was fading fast. As rapidly as the dark had descended. When it came, it came so quickly and severely that it shook him to the core. Jack O'Neill was not a man that got shaken easily, but this place made him nervous._

_Danger, he could sense it. Danger and death. It came for him. _

_He'd lost his team as carelessly as the flashlight, it seemed. Could not recall how, why or when. Forever ago, maybe. _

_Useless. Powerless. They needed him. He should protect them. His job, his responsibility. Never leave anyone behind. No one should come to harm on his watch. Not while he still drew a breath._

_Yes, they needed him - and he needed them. _

_Alone and vulnerable, Jack's concern for his missing team was augmented by the spine-chilling atmosphere of this strange planet. He had failed. Failed to find them, failed to protect them. He was a loser, a busted flush. That hurt. Deep down. Fundamental. _

_Keep going. Gotta keep going. Gotta to find them. Gotta save them._

_He needed rest, required food and water but had none. Must have lost his pack along with that flashlight, and his team. _

_He wondered when he had become so sloppy. He had been better at this kind of thing once. Getting old. Feeling old. Drained, weak, powerless._

_Exhaustion, hunger and thirst. They might take him before anything. Before he found them, before he found a way home. _

_He knew it was only a matter of time. He could not go on like this for much longer. This place would claim him. Death would come for him. The planet would take its prize. Soon. Very soon. He could feel it. He knew it._

_Danger, he could sense it. Danger and death. It came for him. _

_Then he felt something. It brushed his arm and he looked down. Long, gnarled fingers, clawed and grey. He gasped, stepping back. Trying to get away. Then something grasped at him, another hand. They surrounded him. A hundred gnarled, clawed grey hands, reaching for him out of the dark. They were everywhere._

_They pulled, they pushed, they snatched. _

_They hit, they punched, they seized. _

_"Teal'c! Carter! Daniel!" he cried. But it was too late. They had him. They took him down._

"Jack!" Catherine exclaimed, distressed as she observed Jack's fitful restlessness and he screamed out loud for his friends. "Jack, you're dreaming. But I'm here. I'm here for you."

Then he murmured her name.

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On that early Sunday morning, frustration was the watchword for the three waiting members of SG-1. Acute and apparent.

Pete Shanahan was right about Sam. She was a little pissed that he got visitation rights when Jack's closest friends were left sitting there twiddling their thumbs - relieved, sure, but continuing to fret. Jesse's news about O'Neill was good, certainly, but they wanted to see the evidence with their own eyes and, unless ordered to do so, no way were they moving until they did.

As he returned from his interrogation of her CO, Carter's eyes darted to Pete and she rose from her chair, surrounding him along with the rest of Jack's friends. She was disappointed when he immediately spoke softly to Catherine, telling her O'Neill wanted to see her. The remaining threesome glared at the detective disconcertingly as she left.

That Catherine Fellowes was next up merely added insult to injury for all three of them. Although logic told them both Pete and Catherine's access was the right thing, when tired and tetchy after a long anxious night, logic does not necessarily apply. They cared too much about the general. He was not simply their CO and never had been. O'Neill was special to each of them.

So hearts ruled heads, at least for the human contingent. Teal'c was more forbearing, which did not mean he cared less, just that he hid his concerns better. Nevertheless, Pete got the distinct impression the big Jaffa was not a happy camper. That made him appear menacing, which was not something he particularly wished to be on the receiving end of.

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger. He asked for her!" Pete exclaimed defensively before any of them spoke. He could see from those disquieting expressions that all three of O'Neill's ex-team mates were a little irate. All weary, all upset, all having waited for too long for the good news. Now they needed some action and felt stymied.

"What about us?" Sam replied, an irked tone on her lips and eyes narrowed into slits. Pete felt a slight shiver run down his spine. Sam could be darned terrifying when she was pissed, he thought. He was not afraid of her, of course. Actually, he found it a little hot and sexy. Besides, he loved her too much to feel fear. Trepidation, however, was another matter.

Briefly, he wondered if she ever felt like that about him. Probably not. Sam was nothing if not dogged, and very protective of her friends. Traits he admired. He could be the same, and might react in a similar way in these circumstances, but he was not certain she had ever had an opportunity to see him in that light.

"I'm sorry. It's not my show. Maybe you should speak to Ellis. The general isn't supposed to have too many visitors all at once. No excitement."

"B-but…" Daniel stammered.

"We just want to see him!" Sam spat out in frustration.

"I get it but it's not my fault, all right? And as you asked, he's okay. Flaky. Looks pretty bad. But he's okay."

Sarcasm laced his words. They had not asked, and all three suddenly felt pangs of guilt. It should have been the first question, but they were all eager to see O'Neill for themselves. Pete's reassurances aside, and anyone else's for that matter, they would not quite believe he was okay until they had seen him themselves.

"Flaky? Bad?" Daniel queried with concern.

"What do you expect? Cinderella? The fairy godmother waving her wand to make a fairy tale happy ending? These people made chopped liver out of him, Doctor Jackson. This ain't no picnic!" Pete snapped. He too was tired and thus too overly emotional. Daniel recoiled and, regretful of his retort, Pete sighed and held up his hands in a gesture of apology, shaking his head and then rubbing his hands through his hair.

Realizing her fiance was troubled, Sam rapidly moved to his side and grasped his arm gently, quick to be supportive just as he had been with her earlier.

"Sorry," she said. "We didn't mean to take out our frustrations on you."

She smiled, something Pete found irresistible. Thought he could probably forgive almost anything when she turned the corners of those lips upward. "I'll make up to you for your frustration later. When we get the chance to occupy the same bedroom," he replied with a smirking wink.

Sam kissed him softly on the cheek and Daniel and Teal'c exchanged knowing looks, some of the tension relieved slightly. Then Pete gestured for them to sit and answered as many of their questions about O'Neill as he considered appropriate. There were limits to both his knowledge and what he deemed fitting to reveal, but he hoped the discussion would give them some degree of reassurance until they saw their friend for themselves.

Sam could see her fiance was exhausted. He had probably had as little sleep as the three of them. She also knew he would likely continue to pursue his investigation as soon as he left the hospital, not affording himself the luxury of rest. So she held his hand while they spoke, squeezing it periodically in a gesture of comfort and smiling softly when he looked her way.

Pete had to admit he found her quiet support soothing. By the time the foursome had finished talking, he felt more relaxed and ready to face his work.

As Carter returned from kissing her fiance goodbye and waving him off to that work, she bumped into Jesse Ellis, who was also returning to the confines of the hospital. He looked tired. Just like the rest of them, she supposed.

"Hi Sam," he said in greeting, the smile on his face turning back those years the stress and exhaustion had added to that countenance over the last few hours. "Back to the grind. Another day, another dollar." He rolled his eyes and frowned.

"Been sleeping?" she asked and he shook his head.

"Church," he clarified.

"Right," she acknowledged. Church attendance was not her personal thing, not for many years, but each to their own she thought. "You look like you need some sleep."

"You and me both. SG-1 still here? You should go get some rest. Come back later."

"Not until we've seen the general!" she retorted. Ellis was puzzled by the comment and could tell she was a tad fraught.

"You haven't seen him yet?" he replied in surprise. "Why the heck not?"

Carter stopped in her stride, so Ellis paused too. "We're allowed?" she asked excitedly.

Ellis' bafflement hitched up a notch. "Sure!" he exclaimed. "I left instructions… Darn it, do I have to do everything myself?" He smiled ruefully, thinking it was too bad he couldn't simply take some time for church and expect everything to run smoothly while he was absent. "Go to it Sam!"

"Really?" Carter's excitement mounted. "Catherine is with him. We thought… well, we understood he shouldn't have too many visitors."

Jesse shrugged. "True. The doctors don't want him overly exerted or excited. But he sure will want to see you guys!"

"Great! Thanks Jesse!"

Having quickly elicited his room number from her CO's Executive Officer, she turned on her heels and hot footed it back into the hospital, eager to tell the others.

At last, they would have their chance to see him. Then they could all go home and get their well-needed sleep. They would get other opportunities. Later, tomorrow, whenever. When she entered the waiting room, the colonel had a huge grin on her face, and light shining in her previously dulled eyes.

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_The overcast sky __threatened showers, but it was warm. When they had started their hike, the sun had been shining low in the sky, promising a glorious day. It seemed weather forecasters had been wrong. Could be worse, could be cold, O'Neill thought._

_The terrain was not that difficult. He had chosen an easier hike this time because of his companion. But they had reached the foothills and now the only way was up or turn back. Not too steep, but before climbing he suggested they take a break. Eat. Drink. Rest up. _

_They passed the down time in mainly companionable silence, exchanging the odd word or two as they ate sandwiches. They did not need words. The pair had a special bond - the bond of father and son. Easy company. Secure and intimate._

_"You ready, son?" he asked with a smile, thinking it was time to press on. Otherwise, they might not make it back at the promised time and Sara would be pissed with him. He did not want to provoke a row with his wife. _

_Charlie nodded and they packed away the trash and their gear, prepared to climb the small, relatively undemanding mountain ahead. Charlie was learning fast, but O'Neill would not yet risk more complex hikes and climbs. In the years ahead, sure. They had plenty of time._

_Part-way up, the weather started pressing in and the going seemed far tougher than O'Neill remembered from earlier walks along this path. Looking back it seemed a long way down. He could not recall it being so high either. _

_As the skies opened and thunderous rain fell on them, he thought they should probably turn back. Should have done that a while back, he figured. O'Neill had made a mistake. Possibly a bad one._

_Shelter, have to find shelter. Can't risk Charlie. _

_Danger, he could sense it. Danger and death. It came for him. _

_Just above them, he spotted an outcropping that might protect them from the elements, but it looked difficult to reach. He led the way, instructing Charlie to follow and then wait until he could turn and help him traverse the precipice. A fall in this place could be dangerous. He was taking no chances. _

_O'Neill was soaked, suddenly cold. Their gear afforded little protection from such a downpour. He was unprepared, and could not quite believe how stupid he had been. Should have seen this coming._

_He had failed. Failed to protect Charlie. He was a loser, a busted flush. That hurt. Deep down. Fundamental. _

_Danger, he could sense it. Danger and death. It came for him. _

_Carefully, he eased his way up the rock face, turning at the top to reach for his son's hand. But the hand he sought was not there. Instead, long, gnarled fingers, clawed and grey, stretched up to him. He gasped, moving back. Trying to get away. Then something grasped at him from behind, another hand. They surrounded him. A hundred gnarled, clawed grey hands, reaching for him out of the dark. They were everywhere._

_They pulled, they pushed, they snatched. _

_They hit, they punched, they seized. _

_"Charlie!" he cried. But it was too late. They had him. They took him down._

Catherine sobbed at his heart rending scream. She recognized the name. Jack's son. His long dead son. A nightmare.

"Jack, wake up Jack!" she cried, but to no avail. He did not hear or respond. She took his hand and held on tight. "I'm here Jack. Right here."

Then he murmured her name.

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Back at the SGC, everything was returning to normal at last, with O'Neill's very much relieved subordinates going about their everyday business. Reports got written, teams readied for briefings and off-world trips, scientists probed the mysteries allocated to them, maintenance continued on its perpetual loop.

For Sergeant Walter Harriman, and a few others who had waited up all night for news about their CO, it was a time of rest. Strict orders from Colonel Eastman, who was determined to look after O'Neill's people properly and fittingly in the great man's absence. If it was the last thing on planet Earth he ever did, the colonel would do right by the CO he admired and respected so greatly.

Walter did as Eastman ordered. What the boss wanted, he got. The sergeant was happy to have the break, not take his stint in the control room, not make any stupid mistakes because he was too tired. Eastman made the right call. Lives could be at stake, aliens could invade, universes could implode. Okay, so maybe not universes, but shit could happen and high stakes errors were something the sergeant did not wish to risk. Eastman too, it seemed.

Loosening his tie, Walter had laid down on the bed in one of the SGC's many bolt holes, sighing. He was exhausted but his brain was futzing with him. Too overly active, still too tense. So he lay awake for a long time reflecting on the night's activities and General O'Neill.

Eastman was a wind up artist. His serious expression when he got off the phone to Colonel Ellis had them all worried, sitting on the edges of their seats waiting with collectively held breath. That was until the colonel smiled. Then they knew the general was going to be okay. Eastman would never have smiled if not.

So the whole room exploded with relief, cheers and babbling excitement. Eastman could hardly make himself heard to utter the words of confirmation. It did not really matter. The assembled band of worriers knew, and it spread through the SGC very quickly. Throughout the mountain complex, O'Neill's subordinates celebrated the news in their own individual ways. A huge weight was lifted, the heavy oppressive mood lightening.

"Go get some sleep, sergeant," Eastman told Harriman with an encouraging grin after the initial excitement died down.

Through the course of the night, the two men seemed to have become comrades. A common cause, a mutual concern, had bonded them together in a way that Harriman had never previously thought possible. Eastman was okay, he had decided.

Walter merely nodded an acknowledgement of the colonel's suggestion come order, a weary smile on his face. He started to leave, ready to obey, but turned back at the last moment.

"What about you, sir?" he asked. "You've been awake all day and night too."

The two men exchanged affable and supportive looks. "I'll be fine, sergeant. A little bit of roster reorganization and then I'll take a nap," Eastman replied.

"See that you do, sir. With all due respect, of course, colonel," he added hastily.

"Thanks for your concern, Walter."

"Any time, sir."

Walter thought he saw a thoroughly self-satisfied gleam in the colonel's eyes before he turned to leave. Sleep, however, did not come as easily as Walter had anticipated. He had expected to doze off as soon as he hit the bed, but he was restless. Still too exuberant, perhaps.

He was happy the general had pulled through, would live to fight another day. Tough old bird, that was O'Neill. They did not come much tougher, it seemed, and Walter had seen ample evidence of the fact over the years he had known the man.

The general was simply too stubborn to let himself die, although one might have been fooled into thinking the guy had a death wish. He surely put himself into enough death defying situations. He surely had come close many times. How many lives did the wily old cat have for heaven's sake? No wonder his hair was gray and the lines on his face had multiplied. Okay, so simply growing older had played its part but so must those many close encounters with death.

Walter imagined his boss playing one long game of chess with death, and each time coming up with the winning moves. Death must be one hell of a pissed off guy. Impatiently waiting for O'Neill to make the fatal mistake, to fail to protect his king. The general was a master strategist. Defense and attack were his bread and butter. Death should learn to play a better game of chess.

The images conjured by the thought amused the sergeant and he giggled aloud. Must be high on palpable relief, he thought. Good job there were no witnesses. He felt a little bit giddy and light headed, he realized. Need sleep. But restlessness prevailed.

Walter had peered at himself in the mirror a little earlier. He looked haggard, old. The excitement and lack of sleep had taken its toll, and not for the first time. This job was enough to age almost anyone overnight. He had watched as other people he worked with grew older – the hair, the face, the telltale hands. General O'Neill for example. It seemed Walter simply could not get his CO out of his mind. All roads led to O'Neill.

A lot had happened to his CO over the last eight years, so Walter was not very surprised. The general was lucky to be alive. Many were not. The SGC had suffered its losses, but SG-1 seemed to keep on going. With some exceptions, like all that weirdness with Doctor Jackson. The SGC was plagued with weirdness. This was one reason Walter's job was so different and interesting. The general's too, he guessed.

O'Neill had faced captivities and tortures, life and death situations and decisions, loss of good friends and colleagues and much more. He had earned each and every one of those gray hairs and lines on his face, paid his dues.

What surprised Walter, however, was looking at his own image in the mirror. When had he acquired those wrinkles and sallow skin? It wasn't like he was out there fighting in the field, was it? It wasn't like he had the hard decisions to make? So, when had he gotten so old?

Briefly, he wondered what O'Neill thought when he looked at his face in the mirror. Did he think he was lucky? Did he regret? Did he realize what a fortunate bastard he was and then keep on practicing the chess with a wicked, obstinate gleam in his eye? Gonna get you, death. You are sooo going down!

"Gee, Walter, get a grip," he said to himself, laughing. Trying to think about something else. Trying to count sheep. It was not working.

The sergeant's mind ranged back a few years. The first time O'Neill had turned up at the SGC since that original trip to Abydos. Apophis had just taken one of their own but left some of his people behind. Dead Jaffa. Hammond sent that asshole Samuels to bring O'Neill in.

Walter had to admit, he was pleased to see the colonel again. Of course, they had not kept in touch since their previous posting together. Why would they? But he got the feeling that now O'Neill was there things would be very different inside the mountain. Change was coming. Change for the good, he believed.

Harriman's posting to the SGC had seemed like being in the pit of the universe. Nothing ever happened. They were mothballing the place; Hammond was planning retirement; the sergeant was looking forward to the better, more interesting posting his superiors had promised. Then Apophis came – and O'Neill came out of retirement. Life was never the same after that.

Yeah, it sure had been good to see his old mentor again.

O'Neill remembered him. Walter recalled feeling slightly flattered by this fact. The old war horse had always had a way about him - a way to make a subordinate feel like that. Despite he could be ornery. Despite he could sometimes be a bastard.

These negatives were not the traits that lingered in the minds of many of his colleagues, only in the heads of those people who never saw the best of him. What lingered were the positives - those qualities that commanded loyalty and respect. Not merely because he was a senior officer, but because he was Jack O'Neill.

And with these thoughts, Walter started to doze and the relief of rejuvenating sleep came to him at last.

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_He could not seem to move. Helplessly paralyzed. The world revolved around him in slow motion. All he could do was watch. With failing hope, ineffectual and horror-struck. _

_They had Catherine. O'Neill saw them take her, pull her away from him. She screamed, called his name, called for help. They were hurting her, beating her as they dragged her off. _

_O'Neill could do nothing. He tried calling out, trying to move, but he was stuck fast, mute. _

_No, no, no, no, no! He cried out in his silent prison. Have to get to her, protect her, save her. But she disappeared into the far distance, pulled, mauled, injured. She had no one on her side. No one to help her. She was alone. It was his responsibility to help her, but he could do nothing._

_He had failed. Failed to protect Catherine. He was a loser, a busted flush. That hurt. Deep down. Fundamental. _

_Danger, he could sense it. Danger and death. It came for him. _

_He was crying now. Sobbing his heart out. Immobile and voiceless. Hopeless. Ineffective. Pathetic. No, no, no, no, no! Catherine! _

_A void. Nothing surrounded him. A big nothing. Featureless, desolate. _

_Attempting to move a foot, he screeched with anger, frustration. Nothing. _

_Then __long, gnarled fingers, clawed and grey, reached for him. He gasped, flinching away. Trying to avoid them. Then something grasped at him from behind, another hand. They surrounded him. A hundred hands gnarled, clawed grey hands, reaching for him out of the dark. They were everywhere._

_They pulled, they pushed, they snatched. _

_They hit, they punched, they seized. _

_"Catherine!" he cried. But it was too late. They had him. They took him down._

She stared in horror as he called her name so plaintively. Jack's eyes opened for a moment, looking vacant and lost, then filled with terror before they closed again. And he continued to dream, mumbling her name with tears rolling down his sleeping cheeks.

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More disappointment awaited SG-1 when they finally got to see O'Neill. He was dead to the world.

Catherine attentively sat at his side holding his hand. He seemed peaceful for now and she was thankful. Her watchful horror at his previously fitful state had turned to stares of deep affection. She was here for him, and that mattered. She hoped he knew.

As the door opened, she turned her head curiously.

"Shhh…" she whispered with the accompanying gesture of raising a finger to her lips, "he's sleeping." She could see the disappointment writ large on his friend's faces. Leastwise, in Sam Carter and Daniel Jackson's expressions. The large imposing man Teal'c, however, showed nothing in his features. He was an enigma and she determined to ask Jack about him when he was well enough.

"How is he?" Daniel asked in a low voice.

Catherine shrugged because, in truth, she did not know the answer to that question. "I don't really know. He's been asleep since I came in." She sighed regretfully, glancing at Jack and then back to the threesome, who hovered around the bed peering at their friend with concern and exchanging worried looks. "He looks bad, I know. But the doctor says he'll be okay – after some recovery time. Apparently, he's dosed up on morphine. He'll be fine."

She seemed confident of the prognosis, but then Daniel noticed her eyes begin to water and he stepped closer to squeeze her shoulder comfortingly, a faint smile on his lips.

"Told you he's tough," he said, and Catherine returned the small smile, raising her hand to cover Daniel's and then letting go to turn back to O'Neill. "He's quick at the recovery thing. Hates convalescing so much he forces himself to get better fast." Daniel chuckled and the rest of the team smiled. Catherine missed that part, though, as she was had eyes only for Jack.

"I hope you're right," she mumbled.

"Probably looks worse than it is," Sam inserted hopefully. Catherine was right that he looked pretty bad, although SG-1 had seen him in worse situations, she supposed. The bruising was awful, but just cosmetic. It was what lay hidden that worried her.

Catherine turned to look at Sam, loosening her hold on Jack temporarily. Noticing the dark shadows under her eyes, she peered at the rest of his friends. They appeared worn-out. Not surprising, she guessed. She had not even dared look in a mirror at her own face and imagined she probably looked terrible too.

She did not care how dreadful she might appear. Jack was her primary concern, and Catherine doubted he would worry much about how she looked either. Looks were cosmetic too. There was far more to their relationship then mere physical attraction, even if that was how it had all started.

An attractive woman spotting and picking up a handsome hunk in a bar, finding a connection, a spark. The connection had strengthened and that spark continued to ignite. It was a blessing she had not been looking for when she saw him across the crowded bar.

"You all look as exhausted as I feel," she said sympathetically. "I've no idea how long he'll be out. Maybe you should go get some rest and come back later."

"What of you, Catherine Fellowes? You too have not slept." Teal'c asked kindly.

"I'm not going anywhere. I want to be here when he wakes up," she replied, grateful for his concern, but she was not worried for herself, only for Jack.

Catherine thought Teal'c had a strange manner of speaking, unlike anything she had previously encountered. His phrasing reminded her of a foreigner who had learned proper English rather than the colloquial. He spoke a little bit too precisely than was normal to a native English speaker, but she could discern no accent. This made her curious about his origins and how such a man had ended up in the US Air Force.

He certainly had a soldierly bearing. Sam Carter too. Daniel Jackson was another enigma. He did not seem to fit. Jack had told her he was an archeologist and anthropologist who spoke many languages. What did such a man do inside Cheyenne Mountain? Catherine knew Jack's work was secret. He revealed little, but these small things piqued her interest. Once again, she filed that interest away, thinking to ask Jack one day, although she doubted she would ever get to the truth. Not if it was something important to Jack's work.

She understood the need for secrecy and wished things could be different. On the other hand, the things Jack failed to reveal made him more of a mystery, and Catherine kind of liked that in a man. It could be titillating, and it kept her on her toes. She could be a bit of a mystery herself, she realized, although Catherine had told Jack much that she had concealed from almost anyone else.

It would not hurt to ask, she thought. If Jack did not tell then, well, so be it.

"I'll be okay," she added to her previous comment. "Better than he is." She indicated Jack, and smiled softly.

The damage wrought on O'Neill was extensive. Far worse than anything Catherine's ex-husband had inflicted on her. Jack's friend, Doctor Brightman, had popped in a little earlier to check on him and the two women had talked. Brightman was clearly relieved that Catherine's own beating was now out in the open, and probably even more relieved that her part in the illegal cover-up remained uncovered.

Catherine understood the doctor would be in a lot of trouble if people found out she had not reported the assault. She might even lose her medical license. So she was more than happy to keep the secret. Now, she did not dare mention the woman's visit for fear of letting something slip and making Jack's friends suspicious.

If Jack told them, it was his call. Catherine believed he trusted them completely because he had implied it, but she did not. To her, trust was something people earned, not a given because of someone else's word. Not even Jack's. Catherine had trust issues. Not surprising considering her past. She trusted Jack and a handful of other people. Outside of her small, select group of close friends, it was a 'prove I can have confidence in you' scenario.

What the doctor had done was a decent thing. Loyalty to Jack, Catherine supposed. Such loyalty was a good thing and she would do nothing to betray Brightman's trust in him.

Catherine told Brightman about his fitful nightmares, expressing her concerns, weeping gently as she spoke. The doctor helped. She had not been surprised and said it would have shocked her more if he did not have them. They discussed post traumatic stress and Catherine got the impression this was not the first time Brightman had encountered such nightmares with Jack.

Daniel Jackson had implied he'd seen worse, so perhaps Catherine should not have been surprised either. She knew some things about Jack's past. His capture and torture in Iraq, for example. Only briefly, but enough. All she could do was to be there when he needed her. He needed her now.

"W-we just wanted to see him. Make sure he's okay," Carter stammered hesitantly and Catherine nodded her head in understanding. These three people obviously cared a lot about Jack. More loyalty. Colonel Ellis too.

There was a lot she did not know about her lover, but the feelings he elicited from these others confirmed her own thoughts about his character. He was a good man. Respected not just for his rank, but for the person he was. They liked him, possibly loved him in their own ways. She wondered if the whole Air Force base inside that mountain felt likewise. Maybe. Jack had a special way about him. Indefinable, perhaps, but it very much existed. Maybe this was what they meant by charisma.

Jack had a kind loving heart and felt things very deeply, much more so than he would ever reveal to anyone, she suspected. Even to her. He cared about people. They must know or sense it so no matter what, they cared right back - even the President of the United States, or so it would seem from their brief encounter a few weeks before.

And Jack had not earned all those medals or been promoted to the rank of general for nothing. Astute, intelligent and brave, that was her man. Oh yeah, and not forgetting that he was one heck of a gorgeous hunk, even with all those bruises. Although that kind of thing only mattered to her, not the US Air Force. The thought made Catherine smile inwardly.

"We'll hang around for a few minutes," Daniel said. "He seems peaceful."

Catherine remained quiet for the longest moment, then eyed Jack's friends and sighed. "At the moment, but he's having nightmares."

The three members of SG-1 looked slightly ill at ease with the statement, each of them conscious that O'Neill probably would prefer they did not know such an intimacy. Carter and Daniel visibly squirmed.

Each of the team had witnessed O'Neill having bad dreams at one time or another, more than once. All three had suffered similarly restless sleep. His nightmares, however, were personal and private to O'Neill. Something they did not discuss.

"Do you know if it happens often?" she asked, then realized from their manner that they felt awkward about this subject and started to regret having raised it.

Daniel rubbed his chin thoughtfully wondering how to respond, and Carter's cheeks flushed a little.

"He does not speak of it," Teal'c replied, stepping in where his two friends feared to tread.

"Oh," said Catherine. "I guess that's Jack." She smiled faintly, thinking to drop the subject and a long silence ensued while the visitors pondered O'Neill's current condition. "Why don't you get chairs and sit down?" she asked after a few minutes. The threesome's looming presence was starting to make her feel ill at ease. "Maybe he'll wake up soon."

Feeling equally awkward, Carter eyed Teal'c and then Daniel, smiling self-consciously. "Um… we ought to get going. Right guys?"

Catherine wondered if Sam feared her revealing more confidences about Jack, and their response made her curious about the nature of his friendship with these three. Men can be so oddly reticent, she thought. Jack was one such man, but these people were his friends. She wondered how they spent their time together, what they did, what they talked about. Maybe one day she would find out. Meet them again under better circumstances. She hoped so.

They left swiftly, promising to return later, and once they had gone, Catherine turned her mind to contemplating friendship, the intricacies of relationships and their boundaries. Each was unique, she supposed.

Then Jack groaned, his peace retreating to make way for restiveness once more, and she took his hand in hers again. This time, he squeezed back. Hard.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

_The box was barely larger than him. A tight squeeze. A coffin, perhaps? O'Neill struggled, clawing at the covering, pushing, squirming. _

_No matter how hard his exertions, he could not seem to get out. But he had to escape. He had something to do. He sought to recall what it was and failed, but knew it was important. Something…_

_Thrash, thump, bang, push, kick… scream!_

_Dark. Total blackness. Claustrophobic. Air in short supply. _

_Breathless. Hot. Scared._

_Never give up. Never! Not gonna die, damn you, whoever you are! Not gonna stop fighting… last breath._

_Thrash, thump, bang, push, kick… scream!_

_O'Neill could not breathe. Wasting the little air he had with vain resistance. Resistance is futile, he thought, vaguely curious about where he had heard the phrase before. _

_One last attempt. One last chance. One last breath._

_He inhaled the dank, virtually oxygenless air deeply._

_This is different, he thought. Then he woke. _

He could not catch his breath. It seemed stuffy and overly warm. Jack struggled and felt someone gently take hold of him. Heard someone anxiously whisper his name, trying to calm him, trying to tell him they were there for him.

Jack opened his eyes, taking in large gulps of air, and she was there. Catherine, her beautiful but damaged face framed by long dark hair, bent over him and holding him in her arms. A slightly fuzzy image to his currently unfocussed eyes, but she really was there nonetheless.

Jack tried to smile but it hurt, so he groaned and croaked her name from his arid lips. "Catherine!" Suddenly, his blurry vision cleared and he could distinguish her face lucidly.

She looked into his eyes with an expression mixed with excitement and relief. It had been a long night and day, but Jack had come back to her.

"Jack!" she said, the tone of that one word reflecting everything he could see in her face.

And then he smiled.

TBC

_Author's footnote:_ Having left this story in a vaguely happy place, I can go on my long and well deserved vacation without feeling guilty about leaving readers hanging on the edge of a cliff. Okay, so I know many loose ends needing tying up in this story arc, but you'll have to wait a while because very soon I will be jetting off to Vancouver and will be away for quite some time!

Sorry and all that, but Richard Dean Anderson comes first. Rick, Vancouver, Gatecon, other Gatecon guests, the great fellow fans I'll be meeting at Gatecon, playing tourist around other parts of British Columbia and the Canadian Rockies, and so on... oh, and the bears. Mustn't forget the bears! Did I already mention Richard Dean Anderson, btw… and Gatecon… and the bears? :-D

TTFN

Su


	15. Jack Alert!

Title: Jack Alert!

Category: Angst/Romance/Drama/Whumping

Content Warnings: Themes of domestic and other violence. Language.

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine), Sam/Pete

Season: 8

Spoilers: Anything up to and including S8

Summary: When Jack awakes from his ordeal to a heap of pain, Catherine is a sight for sore eyes, but the ever restless general has many reasons to be distracted

Sequel/Series Info: Sequel to Part 14 of Jack/Catherine series: Jack's Big Sleep

Status: Continuing series

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2009 Su Freund

Author's Note: Many thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for reading over this fic and picking me up on my idiocies. She did a terrific job so if you spot errors, they are entirely mine.

**Jack Alert!**

The apparition of Catherine's face jolted him out of the world of nightmares he had inhabited. O'Neill realized, or certainly hoped, this was no phantom but real. She was there – flesh and blood, trying to calm him as he woke from those awful visions, her smile welcoming him back to reality.

She cried out his name and the tone carried deep affection. O'Neill liked that as warmth was in short supply in his dreams. He thought he smiled in response. Smiling hurt but, as that small pain among many others was hardly noticeable, he wasn't sure. Maybe he grunted instead, or grimaced. Jack wasn't yet certain of anything, what was real or what was not.

Dreams. The word dream conjured something pleasant, which was a misnomer for what his brain had created in sleep. His nightmares seemed so real that, now he had awoken, the impact was hard to shake off. Charlie, Catherine, her ex husband and his tame thugs, O'Neill's own seemingly inevitable death.

Those visions were so far removed from being pleasant that they inhabited another planet - one he would rather not visit even with half a dozen SG teams, including his trusty SG-1. The visions were scary and horrifying, in fact, like a seemingly straightforward mission gone badly wrong. Yeah, nothing like that had never actually happened in reality, right?

Catherine's presence helped pacify him, bring him back to the real world, as did the feel of his hand in hers. O'Neill was not yet convinced this reality was that much better than the nightmares. He hurt, for starters, and in more places than he wanted to contemplate. Then there were the memories, both real and imagined, too many of them bad.

Nevertheless, this was way better than coming around to find Pete Shanahan's ugly mug staring at him. That had been another nightmare, right? Jack had the distinct impression it had been all too real. That and too much else. Recall. Nothing like it, sheesh! He remembered everything in glorious Technicolor detail and the memory was distasteful.

There are some things a man would rather forget and his humiliating beating and lucid dreams were at the top of Jack's list. Unfortunately, his pain was a tangible reminder.

Catherine was grinning happily and Jack tried to focus on her, disregarding everything else. She was holding his hand and he acknowledged that with a small movement, then she squeezed gently. She didn't speak and didn't seem to expect him to either. That suited him fine. Using his vocal chords seemed like a very bad idea, forming words beyond him.

He stared at her for long moments in the hope she would ground him, help him get his bearings. Slowly, what was real and what was fantasy started to separate in his mind. Yep, life had thrown up some crap lately, but not as much as his dreams had. This was quite some relief.

Now he was getting his head back together, albeit through the permanent haze of morphine, he started to scrutinize his surroundings. A hospital room and a typical one. He'd seen it when waking before, and O'Neill was sure by then that he had woken before, but he hadn't taken it in. Bed, check. Sure, he was lying on it. Sink, check. Cupboard, check. Window, check. Window? So not a thing he'd have back in the SGC infirmary. Daylight and a view of sorts. Well, blue sky with a few fluffy clouds, anyway. He kind of liked that. An agreeable change from the drab artificial light of the SGC.

Next, his other senses kicked in, primarily his olfactory ones. Antiseptic. Hospitals always reeked of it and Jack so hated that smell. He had encountered it way too many times for his liking, understanding that they needed to keep the place clean but wishing someone would invent something odorless to do the job.

Then there was sickness. Hospitals always smelled of that too. There was something about the smell of ill health that Jack couldn't quite pin down, but it was repugnant too. The antiseptic inevitably failed to hide the stench of illness, decay and death. He might not mind that tang of disinfectant so much if it did, but it didn't. Sickness pervaded the atmosphere like an invisible but nauseating gas.

The faint hint of hospital food also permeated the air. There was some reason Jack couldn't fathom why hospital food left a whiff of cabbage in its wake even when the food provided was completely devoid of the stuff. He figured there had to be a grand scientific explanation for this fact, humorously imagining asking Carter. No doubt, his geeky former team mate would then go on to regale him with some scintillating gobbledygook that would leave him none the wiser.

Man, he so hated hospitals!

After what seemed like a very long time to O'Neill, Catherine finally said something. Something about being relieved that he was alive. What was that all about, he wondered vaguely? Jack could not seem to concentrate on her words. They sounded jumbled. Her voice was low and she was speaking too rapidly. He could only make out about one word in ten.

"Whoa!" he managed to squeak. At least it sounded like a squeak to him. Come back macho Jack O'Neill, he thought. Where are you when I need you?

"What, Jack?" Catherine queried, her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement.

"Slow down," he gasped. "Thirsty."

Catherine looked around, eyeing the small portable table at the side of his bed. "Your ice chips have melted. I'll get some." She promptly let go of his hand to get up but Jack didn't want her to leave even if only for a moment.

"No. Call nurse," he croaked. She nodded, pressing the call button. "Hand," he hinted, so she grasped him again and he smiled weakly, satisfied. Her soothing grip seemed like a lifeline to the real world. Without that reassurance, Jack thought he might lose focus or even himself. Discomforted by his hazy state of mind, he needed to get his head together. Believing Catherine's lifeline would help pull him out of that fog, he had to hold on.

"Are you okay?" she asked and O'Neill threw her an ironic look.

"Do I look it?"

"Not really."

Catherine appeared regretful about giving him that bad news but Jack already knew the answer to his question. He ached in places he had forgotten existed and was momentarily diverted by the small conceit that his bruises must have bruises of their very own.

"Probably means I'm not then, huh?"

She pursed her lips. "Well, that sounds like the Jack I know. Sarcastic wit."

He shrugged as if to say go figure and Catherine grinned. "It's good to have you back, flyboy."

"Did I go somewhere?" he asked and she tittered, then her features morphed into a solemn expression.

"I'm serious, Jack. For a while there I thought…" She trailed off into silence and simply stared at him thoughtfully.

Catherine had known for some time that he would survive his ordeal but also realized he had been lucky. If the boy had not been there and called the paramedics… It made her shudder to imagine Jack dying alone in an alley from internal bleeding. She so easily might have lost him.

He was such an ass for getting himself into trouble in the first place, but Catherine did not feel this was the point. Jack probably knew he was a jerk, or he would when he had the chance to think straight. The point was he was okay, or would be. Eventually, he might even be as good as before.

Catherine could not bring herself to be annoyed about his dumbass behavior. She was the one who had stupidly let her ex into her apartment and this had all started with that asinine act. So, bottom line, she was to blame for all of this. She knew Jack would not agree so said nothing of those thoughts for now.

"What did you think?" O'Neill asked, seeking clarification.

Lost in thought, the question startled her. She paused for a moment, puzzled about what he referred to, recalling her earlier unfinished words.

"That I would lose you, Jack," she explained.

It was his turn to look baffled. "Lose me?"

Then, Catherine realized he was confused and seemingly unaware of how close to death he had been.

"You didn't understand a word I said before, did you?" she asked with a smile. Now she considered it, Catherine realized she had chattered on a bit. She'd believed Jack had had enough time to reacquire his faculties once he woke up. Normally he was very sharp on awakening, probably from years of military early mornings and discipline. Apparently not this time.

Not only had he awoken from sleep just a short time before but his Patient Controlled Analgesia unit was automatically dosing him with morphine - at least sufficient to keep him in a slightly disoriented state. Morphine was like that. Catherine remembered its effects well from her own experience so should have appreciated he wasn't totally with it and probably wouldn't be for quite a while. Her enthusiasm for Jack's comparative alertness had carried her away.

"I told you to slow down. Didn't I?" he asked as nothing seemed certain.

"Sorry. I guess I prattled on too much and didn't give you enough time to come around."

"Have I come around now?" he asked with a small quirky grin and Catherine thought given the jokey tone of his response, he must have.

"Well, you seem quite Jackish," she retorted teasingly.

"Jackish? Is that a word?" He tried to chuckle but it came out as a cough. "Shit! Don't make me laugh. It hurts."

His obvious pain visibly upset Catherine. "Do you need more morphine?" She reached for the button on his PCA but he waved an arm in the air dismissively, a look of mild panic in his eyes.

"Can't go back!" he cried hastily, not wishing to return to his nightmares or diminish his wakefulness. "Don't want to sleep. Want to see you."

He hoped Catherine might inspire the pleasant dreams he craved. The very thought of revisiting those horrible visions made O'Neill shudder. No, staying awake was preferable. The pain was preferable. Jack wanted to avoid extra morphine for as long as he could. It would further reduce his alertness and might even make him sleep again. Only when the pain became unbearable would he welcome the respite.

Besides, he wanted to take advantage of Catherine's visit and maybe check out what was happening back at the SGC. He had no clue what was going on in his command and this made him uneasy. He might be in hospital but, in O'Neill's eyes, his subordinates were still his responsibility.

Perhaps he might get other visitors too. Maybe SG-1. He'd like that and wanted to be awake and responsive to their visit if they came, which they surely would. Jack was kind of used to seeing them around when he was laid up, a habit he was not very eager to break.

Watching this pain etched into his features, Catherine wondered if his nightmares still haunted him. Perhaps it was better for him to stay awake for a while. She reflected that he might feel the same way about sleep if he remembered those dreams, suspecting he did, or at least some part of them. She did not like to ask. Jack might see that as an intrusion.

"You're in pain, Jack…" Her eyes looked saddened by the thought.

"I'll be fine," he responded, beginning fight the muzzy effects of the morphine and get a better grip on both his wandering thoughts and the use his voice. "I am gonna be fine aren't I?"

A nurse entered as he spoke, overhearing his words. "You certainly are going to be fine, General O'Neill. You're a very lucky man."

"Am I?" Right now, he didn't really feel fine at all, and certainly not particularly lucky, but O'Neill knew he would be. He had trodden this same path so many times that his footprints were a semi-permanent fixture, etched into the earth. Yeah, he probably was a lucky guy. What with one thing or another, should have been dead years ago, he thought.

Having second guessed the general's need, the nurse had brought ice chips. He gratefully sucked on them while she fussed around him checking his vitals, blood pressure, IV fluids, analgesia and all the other things nurses do when they tend to patients in his condition.

O'Neill vaguely recalled having gone through a similar routine before when Pete Shanahan was there. This time the memory of the detective gave him pause for thought. He wondered what kind of trouble the investigation into his attack might bring, supposing only time would tell. For now, he'd just have to wait it out and see what happened.

No doubt, the cop would be coming around again and Jack did not yet know if that was a good or a bad thing. He wanted to find out what was going on but did not want to make any trouble for the SGC or Shanahan. Carter would never forgive him for either and that so would not be a good thing.

First, however much he wished to be alone with Catherine, there were other concerns. As the nurse had entered, O'Neill had spotted the SFs guarding his door.

"Can you ask one of the guys outside to come in?" he asked and while the nurse finished up her chores, Catherine went to the door. As the nurse left, an SF entered and stood smartly to attention by the general's bed.

"At ease airman," O'Neill said and the man visibly relaxed. "Morgan, isn't it?"

These days, Jack took pride in knowing the names of almost if not everyone who worked on his base, plus a little something about each of them. No easy task, but he had the big shoes of General Hammond to fill so made the effort to emulate his former commander.

"Yes, sir," Morgan replied.

"Is Colonel Ellis around?" Jack asked.

"I think so, General O'Neill."

"I'd like to see him."

"Yes, sir. We'll find him."

"How's little Helen?" Jack asked after ransacking his brain for a memory, and the SF looked pleased that his boss remembered his daughter's name.

"S-she's great, sir," the airman said proudly, a faint smile on his usually carefully schooled features. "Started school now."

"Really? Gee, time flies, eh, Morgan?"

Taking it as a rhetorical question, Morgan nodded briefly without replying in words. "I'll go find the Colonel, sir." He didn't move.

"Right. Dismissed, airman."

Morgan turned to leave then as he reached the door, turned back again. "Um, permission to speak General O'Neill, sir…" he started, waiting for authority to continue.

"Yes, Morgan?"

"Um, we're all glad you'll be okay, sir. I think I speak for everyone on the base, General."

Jack smiled, shrugging off the pain that shot through his face with the gesture. "Thank you, Morgan." The SF acknowledged the recognition with another brief nod and then left.

While all this was going on, Catherine watched in fascination. She had just experienced Jack as Air Force General for the very first time and it captivated her.

"Do you remember all of them? All of their sons or daughters?" she asked curiously.

"Mostly yes on the former, no on the latter. But I try to remember something," he explained.

"Wow!"

"It's really not all that impressive," he said modestly.

"You think? I'm impressed," she said with a smile and Jack suppressed a chuckle remembering it would hurt.

"Ack! It's my job," he replied, thinking that if these people were going to put their lives on the line for their country they deserved nothing less. He did not, however, voice this opinion.

Meanwhile, Catherine was reflecting that she had barely touched the surface of this man. Jack had a knack of leaving her wanting more. She liked that about him and appreciated his self-effacing manner. To her, this was remarkable. He hardly seemed to realize the impact he had on people, including his own staff.

Even though their exchange was brief, Catherine thought she detected admiration and respect in the airman and not necessarily simply because Jack was his CO. That meant something, she thought, although realized she might have read the airman wrong during such a short encounter.

The reactions she'd observed in his other colleagues seemed to back up her deduction, though. On the face of it, Jack appeared to be a man the people who worked for him liked. This notion pleased her very much.

"Are you feeling any better?" she asked, returning to her chair and eyeing him warmly.

"More awake," he replied, evading the question. Actually, O'Neill felt like crap but would not confess to that. Catherine knew he was deliberately being vague but decided not to press. He was awake, talking and alive. That sufficed to keep her happy for now

"I hate to do this, Catherine," Jack said. "But when Colonel Ellis arrives can you leave us alone for a while? Maybe go get coffee or something?"

"Sure, Jack, I understand."

She assumed Jack thought there was important business to discuss with his Executive Officer. Maybe catch-up on what was happening on his base. She got that and, of course, her assumption was correct. O'Neill wanted to get back into the loop as quickly as possible. He needed to keep occupied and distracted while recovering.

"Maybe you could bring a coffee back for me?" he asked hopefully. The desire for caffeine had slowly crept up on him. When he mentioned coffee, Jack could almost smell the alluring aroma and taste its satisfying bitterness. Coffee, lots of it, preferably strong and black. Failing that, even a milky latte would do. He seriously doubted nurses would allow him to have any at all, which heartily pissed him off.

"I should check up on that first," she replied, noticing his quickly hidden scowl but refraining from comment.

O'Neill's heart sank at her response. He was hoping Catherine might sneak some coffee in for him but should have known she would want to check it was okay first. Figuring he couldn't exactly blame her for that because it was undoubtedly for his own good, he resigned himself to suffering whatever eating and drinking regime the hospital recommended – for now. Jack would find a way to bend or even break the rules. He always did.

"Colonel Ellis seems to be a good man. Competent," Catherine said, changing the subject.

"I'm lucky to have him." Lucky to have all of them, he thought.

"The people I've met that you work with, well, they seem to care about you a lot." As Catherine anticipated, he did not answer with words. A small smile briefly lit Jack's features before his face and body language took on a slightly self-conscious appearance as if to deflect her complimentary observation. "Your friends were here earlier."

That got his O'Neill's attention and his demeanor changed again, this time a cross between hopeful and excited. "Friends?" he queried, going on to forestall her probable response. "You mean Daniel, Carter and Teal'c?"

She nodded, noting his apparent enthusiasm for the trio. The evenness of O'Neill's tone gave nothing away, but his manner said everything about how much he cared for them too. Sometimes Catherine thought she could read him like an open book - like right now - but he so often closed those pages to her. Jack could be a perplexing man, but this made him all the more exciting and attractive.

"So you met them, huh?" he said.

"Yeah. Not in the best circumstances unfortunately."

"No. Sorry about that."

"Not your fault. They seem like good people too. They're worried about you."

"They are good people. The best," he said, heaving a weary and remorseful sigh before continuing. "All of this is my fault, Catherine. I went out looking for trouble and I found it. Yay me! Sometimes, I can be a bit boneheaded." His tone was one of self-mockery and Catherine felt a heavy weight of responsibility because of the part she had played.

"Actually, a lot of this is my fault," she claimed and Jack stared at her in disbelief, even more taken aback by the guilty expression on her face than her words.

"You can't possibly believe that. Your ex is even more of a jerk than I am! If you want to blame someone other than me, blame him."

"I do blame him, but-but…" She wasn't sure how to explain her culpability so trailed off with a moan, eyes darting away from direct contact and moving off to gaze at her hands. These, she was wringing with anxiety. Her behavior bothered Jack, so not the confident woman he had come to know, and he wondered what was wrong.

"I should have warned you about him," she continued hesitantly. "He-he's done this kind of thing before."

Shocked, O'Neill's eyebrows shot up curiously. "What?"

"I thought those days were behind me," she explained hastily, her guilt escalating. "He always was very possessive. When we were together, I know he set people up for a beating. People he thought were getting too close to me. Men who looked at me in the wrong way, that kind of thing. He used to gloat about it."

She went on to expand on the gory history of her marriage and Jack listened, filled with disgust and contempt for the man who called himself her husband. So much for loving and cherishing, he thought, wondering if he would have done anything differently if she had told him about all of this before. Maybe, but this did not make any of it her fault. Concerned for his lover, he tried to reach for her hand but it hurt to stretch that far.

"Catherine, look at me," he said in a compassionate but also commanding tone. She obeyed but he detected reluctance. "Give me your hand." When she didn't he added, "Please." She moved closer so he could reach and he took hold of the hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. She looked slightly discomforted and he knew he had to allay her feelings of guilt immediately.

"Rodgers would gloat about it as he was beating your brains out?" he asked in dismay, softly stroking the back of her hand in a reassuring manner.

"Yeah, like that," she answered with a wry smile.

"Jeez, Catherine, he's a total bastard." More even than O'Neill had already imagined and he had not considered this was possible.

"I guess I hoped all that crap had stopped. He's pestered and threatened me, sure, tried to keep me looking over my shoulder, but he hasn't done anything quite this extreme for a long time. He goes on about getting me back but I've never been totally sure if he really meant it or just hated losing one of his possessions. I suppose he sees you as a real threat and he's right."

Jack squeezed again in response to those words, considering what she had told him before replying. O'Neill felt responsible for everything that had happened. If he hadn't threatened Rodgers in New York, maybe her ex wouldn't have come after them. They would never know for sure. That kind of man is normally a coward at heart and Rodgers had confirmed it with his recent actions, but Jack had gone looking for him. He had no one to blame but himself.

"No way is this your fault! I won't have you blaming yourself for my stupid arrogance, or his. No way. But don't kid yourself. He wants you. If we don't do something about him, he'll do something like this again. You have to get that divorce, Catherine, and you have to press charges. He thinks he owns you, still thinks he's in love with you. Of course, a guy that does that to a woman doesn't really love her at all, or that's what I think. No man who genuinely loves a woman could do that to her."

Catherine looked at him with surprise at his astute grasp of the situation. "You're probably right on all counts," she agreed. "I just didn't think… if I'd told you, you might have worked out it was an ambush. You might not have gone looking for him."

"So you think he set me up? I think so too. He came after you hoping to get to me. It worked. He's smarter than I thought. Have you spoken to Pete, um, Detective Shanahan about any of this?" She nodded.

"We had a good long chat," she replied. "He's on the case. Seems to know what he's doing."

"I'm sure he does. Carter would never date an idiot. Well, maybe at one time, but not now I think."

"I-I'm sorry, Jack…" She looked sad and guilty so Jack interrupted.

"Like I said, don't you dare even contemplate blaming yourself for this," he admonished. "It so is not your fault." She did not look convinced. "You got taken in by a charmer who turned out to be a grade A asshole. You think I would just let him beat up on you and leave it there? Believe me; I still would have gone looking."

O'Neill was thinking if he had known this history then maybe he would have prepared better, been more wary, but he remained silent on the subject. Catherine did not deserve to feel responsible. She'd suffered enough.

"I wish I'd known," he said sorrowfully. "But not because of this. I just wish I had."

She smiled ruefully, keeping her eyes fixed on him. "We've always had secrets."

"Maybe too many," he admitted, his expression filled with affection. He was thinking, however, that as a large part of his life was a secret of gargantuan proportions there would always be something to hide. It was regrettable and O'Neill realized he didn't like it very much but it had to be that way, at least for now.

A knock on the door interrupted their discussion and Jack sighed remorsefully. Something else to be regretful about; not finishing this conversation with Catherine. Then he figured they would have plenty of time.

As soon as Jesse Ellis entered, Jack barked at him. "If you salute, Jesse, so help me I'm gonna ask Catherine to kick your ass!"

A small welcoming smile belied the stern tone. Then he turned to Catherine, his manner softer and more affectionate. "And if I see you looking guilty again, I'm gonna kick yours. Quick kiss?" he added hopefully, not caring that Ellis would witness such a demonstration of tenderness with this woman he cared about so passionately.

Catherine grinned, bending over him and kissing his lips briefly. "I'll see you later, flyboy." She winked and he smiled. With some effort, because it seemed every part of his body hurt no matter what he did, Jack reached up and smoothed his fingers over her cheek.

"You look tired. Maybe you should go home and get some sleep," he suggested.

"That is so not going to happen," she declared. They would have to drag her out by the hair to shift her, she thought. As much as she could get away with it, Catherine was there for the duration.

O'Neill said nothing and she left mumbling about checking out the coffee. Then he and Ellis were alone.

"Sit down, Jesse. Bring me up to speed. What's happening back at the ranch?"

Ellis sat and stared at O'Neill thoughtfully. "I'm glad you made it, sir," he said.

"There was a danger I wouldn't?"

Jesse nodded, waiting for the general to ask more questions but he didn't. "You should make her go home and sleep. She's been here for…" He glanced at his watch. "Hours. I've kind of lost track. A long time without rest anyway, particularly considering what she's been through."

Jack pursed his lips, annoyed with himself that he hadn't realized how much time had passed. "I didn't know. I'll talk to her. What about you Jesse? Had any rest?"

"Not much."

"Then you should take your own advice."

"I will when I can," the executive officer replied with a small but tired smile.

"I could make it an order." Jack gave him a General O'Neill type glare but Ellis merely shrugged.

"Yes you could, sir, but I hope you won't."

O'Neill knew his XO was a dedicated man and loyal to a fault. If he perceived there was a job to do, he'd stick around until he did it. The two men exchanged fond looks. Both of them respected the hell out of each other and Jack never told Jesse how to do his job. He had never needed to and had no wish to start now.

"Okay," he agreed after a reflective pause. "I don't want my XO collapsing with exhaustion. I need you more than ever right now. But you know your own limits, Jesse. I trust you to recognize them."

"Yes, sir."

"That's settled, then." O'Neill visibly relaxed slightly "I'm hungry. You think they might let me eat sometime soon?"

"I'll ask on the way out."

"Great. Cake would be nice."

Ellis grinned. His CO's penchant for cake was a running gag at the SGC. He figured if he mentioned this urge to the guys in the mountain, they would inundate O'Neill with cakes. The guys in the commissary would probably send all his favorites.

"You need real food, sir." Ellis' tone was affectionately sarcastic, something he knew he could get away with when they were alone.

"Cake isn't real food? I'm pretty sure it contains all the major food groups," Jack quipped and Jesse chuckled.

"I was thinking something a little bit more nutritious."

"Yeah, I guess the nurses will think so too." He sighed ruefully. "Maybe someone can smuggle something in. Something with coconut, or failing that, chocolate."

"I'll see what I can do, sir." Jesse agreed although O'Neill knew he, like Catherine, would ask the nurses about it first.

The two men sat silently for a while simply pleased to be in each other's company, until Jack spoke again. Down to business. "So, brief me. What's going on outside these four walls, Colonel? How's Eastman holding up? And you for that matter?"

Jesse Ellis took a deep breath and started to report.

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It was much later that O'Neill decided to take advantage of the additional dose of morphine his PCA unit would provide. He'd fought the pain as much as he could but now he needed the extra help. Jack wasn't much good at asking for help when injured or ill but, fortunately, he didn't have to ask anyone anything. Just press a button.

"I'm… tired," he said. "And I ache like hell."

Catherine grimaced inwardly suspecting he must be in severe pain to mention it or to resort to the self-dose of morphine. She was relieved to see him use the additional analgesia at last. For many reasons, she got the fact that he had wanted to stay more alert but now was the time for rest. He'd had quite a day and she thought he'd got through it by sheer force of will. This was something she admired but he had to heal. Rest would help more effectively than Jack's apparent determination to keep occupied.

After Ellis left and she returned, they allowed Jack to eat a little something. O'Neill was progressing well, it seemed. His airways were clear, his cardiovascular system strong and he was unmistakably communicative. If this had not been the case, they probably would have placed him in an intensive care unit. He had fully recovered from anesthesia quite a while earlier and his general post-operative condition was positive. His medication, which had included anti-nausea/vomiting drugs, seemed effective. Most importantly, he could ingest without choking.

Nil by mouth might have been one option but, apparently, they believed he was well beyond that stage of recovery. To be certain, however, a nurse supervised while he ate and the small portion of food provided was soft and gooey. He sneered at what he unkindly called gloop but ate it anyway, commenting that he would never complain about MREs again.

She asked Colonel Ellis to contact his three old friends, so Daniel, Carter and Teal'c dropped by for a while. Catherine stayed for a few minutes to be friendly but then tactfully disappeared again to leave them some time alone with him. They looked grateful for that. In fact, they looked thankful to be there at all. Probably relieved he seemed to be on the mend.

It was interesting to watch the four interacting for the first time. Clearly, they genuinely cared about each other a lot. They were very close. Even her brief few minutes of observation had told her that.

Jack was a little sarcastic and cantankerous yet Catherine saw through his facade and his friends did not seem in the least bit offended. They probably saw through him too or perhaps they were used to it, she thought. It seemed they had been through this routine before. Daniel Jackson told her Jack hated being laid up and was generally a pain in the ass for the duration, which was something to bear in mind.

The deep affection she witnessed warmed her heart. Jack needed his friends at a time like this so she wanted to encourage them. Catherine wished for his friends to be her friends too.

Later, the detective turned up again. This time he seemed to be there simply to check Jack was okay, although they too had some private time so she was not fully aware of what they had discussed. Jack didn't tell her much so she didn't ask. Catherine respected both his privacy and his secrets. If he could respect hers then he deserved that understanding.

What he did tell her was that the police had picked up two of the suspects identified by his young savior. There was no sign of her husband yet but Shanahan was looking. Both Catherine and Jack believed he would get his man even if it meant extraditing him from somewhere outside of Colorado. The cop was nothing if not doggedly determined.

That probably should have been enough excitement for one day, but then something unexpected happened. Catherine was washing a glass at the little sink behind the door when they heard a ruckus outside. The door opened a notch and someone tried to close it.

"You're not on the list, sir!" One of the SFs was saying to the visitor. He sounded slightly ill at ease with having to tell the person so.

"I know you're just obeying orders but I insist. I'm sure Colonel Ellis would have put me on the list if I'd told him I was coming, son," the man said patiently. She thought he sounded Texan.

Jack's eyes widened. "General Hammond, sir?" he queried to the slightly ajar door. She noticed him try to straighten up a little bit almost like a reflex action, and he winced with pain as he did so. "Is that you?"

"Yes, Jack, it's me. Tell your SFs to let me in, will you?"

"For crying out loud, airmen, let the man in. What, you think General Hammond is gonna attack me or something?"

"Sir, Colonel Ellis…" one of the SFs objected.

"I know. Don't let anyone in who isn't on the list. This is General Hammond for Christ's sakes. Let him in and that's an order. From a general and not a colonel, by the way." He muttered something under his breath that Catherine didn't hear but she assumed it was a curse.

"Yes, sir."

Hammond entered, rolling his eyes and approaching the bed. "I'm glad you're well protected, Jack, but these guys know me. They used to work for me! Actually, technically speaking they still do."

Jack laughed. "And if they had ever disobeyed your orders you would have given them hell. Sorry about that sir, um, George."

His CO grinned broadly. "Well, you're looking pretty good for a man who came so close to death. You have that habit, Jack. Don't know how you do it. More lives than a cat."

O'Neill looked slightly fidgety and coughed, concerned Hammond would reveal more than he should with Catherine in the room. He had inadvertently let slip more than Jack was comfortable with already.

"Um, this is my, um, friend Catherine Fellowes, sir." As she was standing behind him, Hammond turned to look where Jack indicated, surprised to find someone else there and annoyed with himself for not noticing that small but important detail. "Catherine, this is General George Hammond, my Commanding Officer. Used to do my job, actually."

"Whatever that is," Catherine commented dryly, stepping forward and throwing a charming smile at Hammond. The two shook hands and mumbled polite greetings.

"My apologies ma'am, I didn't see you there. I didn't realize you had a visitor Jack."

"Actually, I think Catherine lives here, sir," O'Neill joked and she laughed.

"What he means is, he simply can't get rid of me, General," she said in a sweet/acid tone. Jack wasn't sure how she managed both at the same time, but she did.

"Who said anything about wanting to get rid of you?" Jack retorted with a small smirk. Actually, after what Jesse Ellis had told him earlier he was worried about Catherine and had tried to persuade her to go home and sleep. His pleas fell on deaf ears but he continued to work on her.

"The President mentioned something about bumping into you two in New York a few weeks back," Hammond said. "I sure was surprised to hear you'd been in the Big Apple, Jack."

"I'm not surprised you were surprised, sir," Jack said, beaming, and Hammond gave him a fond smile. "So what brings you all the way here from D.C. General?"

"How many times, Jack? George."

"I keep trying sir, um, George. I swear."

"You bring me all the way from D.C. Jack. The President is concerned about you and, frankly, so am I. I always was more partial to the evidence of my own eyes. It's good to see you're making good progress, son."

"You can tell old Henry Hayes that I'm peachy, George."

"Sure. And what can I tell me?" With alarming directness, Hammond met O'Neill's gaze as if defying him to lie. The glare made Jack feel self-conscious.

"Um… that I'm peachy, sir?" he answered in a tone Hammond had heard many times - feigned innocence.

Hammond gave him a long-suffering look and turned to Catherine. "How do you put up with him?" he asked jokily and she chuckled.

"It's easy when you know how," she retorted.

"We've worked together for eight years and he's still as slippery to handle as an armful of snakes. Got any tips?" he responded humorously and the two visitors grinned.

"Gee, thanks, but I am in the room," Jack said grumpily and his visitors laughed. "Anything else I can do to amuse? A short tap dance, perhaps?" He sighed and smiled at his chuckling guests. "Are you gonna sit down, George?"

Hammond nodded shortly, pulling a chair close to the bed, and Jack gave Catherine a look that intimated he could do with some time alone with the general. She took the hint, smiling sweetly at Hammond before leaving.

"Charming woman," George commented.

"Yeah," Jack agreed with a smile, "but I so know you didn't fly all the way here from Washington to check out my impeccable taste in women."

His visitor loosed a genuinely hearty guffaw that widened Jack's grin. He had missed Hammond, he realized. He'd missed the laugh, the Texan drawl, the sympathetic understanding and good advice. All in all, he had missed the camaraderie and it felt good to remember they were friends and not just colleagues.

"No, I guess not," Hammond said. "I'll skip that and let you keep your private life private, Jack, as always."

"Yes, sir."

"So, do you want to tell me about it?" Hammond asked.

"I'd rather not," O'Neill replied with an expression that seemed to say he'd prefer to walk over hot coals. Hammond sighed.

"Some things never change," he commented slightly acerbically.

"And that can so be a good thing, sir."

The two men exchanged smiles and settled down to chat. By the time Hammond left, vaguely satisfied with what O'Neill had ventured to tell him, Jack felt content but exhausted. It had been a long day.

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So, all of these things had happened over the course of one day and Catherine believed it was way too much excitement in such a short space of time for the recovering Jack. Too many visitors too early on in his healing process. She did not want him to suffer any setbacks because of his seemingly obstinate desire to pack as much into a day as was humanly feasible.

The man was impossible. Daniel Jackson had as much as told her so, but she had not known how right he was. Jack clearly hated being laid up, resisting all attempts to make him rest. Now, at last, he had finally surrendered and it was about time.

Jack turned his head to look at her, catching her eye, and he smiled faintly. The extra morphine was beginning to make him feel wobblier and overly content with himself. He was beaming at her dreamily, eyes unfocussed, and she knew she was not going to get anything much in the way of coherence now he was in this state. She did not really mind that because she was not going anywhere.

"Go home, Catherine. Get some sleep," he suggested groggily.

"I'm staying right here. You sleep. I can find ways to keep myself occupied," she replied, waving a book in the air.

"Please. I'm just gonna worry about you. If you're concerned about Rodgers, then don't be. Shanahan's guys are keeping an eye on your place."

Once he said it, for the first time Catherine acknowledged this was one of her fears about returning home. Despite all the years she had known him and everything he had done, it was only now that she understood exactly how scarily dangerous Peter Rodgers truly was. He had to be a little bit crazy and he needed help.

"That's good. I'll feel safer. The sooner they get him, the better. We'll all breath more easily again."

"So, you're going?"

"I don't want to leave you alone with your nightmares, Jack." Her eyes held heartfelt sorrow that he could detect even in his currently woozy and growing steadily woozier state.

"I had nightmares, huh?" he queried innocently.

"I think you know you did."

He stared at her blearily for a while. "Then do me a favor and give me one less nightmare to contend with. Go. Please."

"You won't be happy until I do, will you?" she asked with a small sigh. An indication she might resign herself to the fate Jack desired for her at last.

He shook his head and it dizzied him but Jack tried not to let it show. "Promise me," he whispered. "

"Okay. I promise, Jack," she replied softly, but he was already out for the count.

Catherine watched him lovingly for quite some time before moving. Then she got up knowing she had to keep her promise. He was right that she needed to sleep and she would happily have snoozed in the chair. If it would make him feel better, however, she would go home for a while.

There would be other days and many more of them.

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Flickering candlelight cast entrancing moving shadows on his wall but Teal'c took no notice. The glow had triggered a memory. One from long before he became First Prime to Apophis - one that emphasized that his master might be his master but was certainly not his god.

It was something he would rather have forgotten, perhaps, but Teal'c had many memories he occasionally wished he could erase from his mind. Most of the time, however, he wished to remember. At heart, the Jaffa warrior believed he should not forget the deeds carried out in his master's name. One should respect the dead and never forget. They deserved that.

No one had ever known what Teal'c had done, not even Apophis - especially not him. Ron'ac had been one of his favorites too. A warrior who had he lived would likely have become First Prime instead of Teal'c. This, however, was not the reason Teal'c had killed him. Not for petty ambition or jealousy. Or even at the behest of his so called god. No. He had murdered Ron'ac for revenge.

To avenge a wrong was the Jaffa way and Ron'ac had stolen something that was not his to take. He had imagined himself in love with Drey'auc's beautiful and willful sister, Lov'auc but she did not return his affections. Lov'auc could have chosen almost any man she had wanted and Ron'ac was not her choice. He was an ugly man both in visage and temperament, proving the latter viciously with his actions toward the young woman.

Yes, Ron'ac had taken Lov'auc against her will. The Tauri would have called it rape, but the Goa'uld had no similar word in their tongue. Rape and torture. What he could not have willingly, he stole, kidnapping Lov'auc and hiding out with her for many days. Repeatedly, he assaulted the young woman through both forced sex and bodily harm. He was brutal, cruelly beating her.

There was no escape for young Lov'auc, no happy ending. She died, breaking Drey'auc's heart. So, Teal'c avenged his wife's sister. A life for a life. Ron'ac simply disappeared and no one knew where or how, but Teal'c knew.

A Zat'nik'tel is a formidable weapon. It can stun, hurt and kill, but one of its more useful attributes as a weapon is that it can obfuscate. It can make evidence disappear. It can aid and abet and no one would ever be any the wiser. A mystery would be born, never to be resolved. This is how Ron'ac had simply vanished, although not before Teal'c had made him suffer. A quick death was not his fate and neither, in Teal'c's opinion, should it have been.

He had relished that vengeance and now he wished to avenge O'Neill, the memory of Lov'auc and Ron'ac sparking off the inkling of a plan.

TBC


	16. Another Part of the City

Title: Another Part of the City

Category: Angst/Romance/Drama/Whumping

Content Warnings: Themes of domestic, sexual and other violence. Both mild and vulgar language, specifically the F word

Pairings: Jack/Other (Catherine), Sam/Pete

Summary: Jack is recovering from his trauma. Meanwhile, in another part of the city, Catherine's increasingly crazed husband is making plans…

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2009 Su Freund

Author's Note:

1. You've may have noticed this is the first chapter in which Jack's name does not appear in the title. Nor does he appear in this story, or at least he is only present indirectly, as in people's thoughts etc. The title is a direct steal from the late Ed McBain's (otherwise known as Evan Hunter among other things) book of the same name. He has always been one of my favorite crime writers and, if he was still alive, I hope he wouldn't mind this humble tribute to his great talent.

2. Thanks very much to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for doing such an amazingly quick beta read of this part and for her encouragement. She does a great job and any remaining mistakes are entirely down to me.

**Another Part of the City**

The small room had seen better days. Patches of fading yellow wallpaper peeled and bubbled and the mud brown carpet was threadbare. Not what he was used to but it sufficed. He'd rented the place for its prime location not its sumptuousness.

Rodgers sipped his beer and looked again through the expensive but so worth it magnifying lens. No sign of activity. There hadn't been any since Catherine had left her apartment in a whirlwind of frantic activity, sometime yesterday he thought, eyeing his watch dolefully.

He was betting she was sitting in the hospital at that bastard O'Neill's side. Weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. Damned bitch! Should have killed the old man, he thought ruefully. He'd hoped he had but no such luck. After discovering paramedics had rushed his nemesis to hospital, Rodgers had called pretending to be a relative. He'd got the lowdown or as much as they would tell him. Short on detail but he'd learned enough.

The son of a bitch had made it. Someone had found him in the nick of time. Touch and go for a while but he was going to be okay, or so the person he'd spoken to assured him. They could not have known this was the last thing he wanted to hear but Rodgers feigned relief. He was good at that - had a lot of practice with fake charm.

No one who knew Peter Rodgers knew him as well as they thought, not even Catherine. He took great pride in this fact. He'd fooled her dumb ass snobbish parents for years - hoodwinked a lot of people, actually. Yeah, he did a great line in charming. Figured he should open a damned charm school.

Grinding his teeth irately, he glanced again at the street and over to Catherine's unlit apartment. Good view. The best. From here Rodgers could see right into her bedroom.

He'd been watching on and off for a long time, months, and she was sublimely unaware of it. Rodgers enjoyed that, got a kick from seeing her naked and knowing she had no idea he was looking. Each of the many times he'd observed her getting dressed and undressed was a thrill. He'd even seen her screwing that bastard O'Neill a few times and, if truth be told, got a kind of buzz from that too. He didn't like other men handling his wife but had to admit spying on her with someone else gave him vicarious pleasure.

He'd watched her with other men too in the past, but not since O'Neill had entered the scene. Rodgers didn't like that, not one little bit. Unlike her previous casual encounters, his wife seemed to be half serious about the sanctimonious bastard. The relationship had been going on for weeks now. It was wrong and he had to put an end to it.

That's why Rodgers wanted O'Neill dead or, alternatively, maimed so badly that he wouldn't be any use to her anymore. If not dead then requiring help to eat and pee might be an acceptable option. Incapable of fucking his damned wife, that's what he wanted.

Should have taken her while he was inside her apartment, Rodgers thought regretfully. She'd fought, though, a wildcat. Nonetheless, he could have taken her. Fucked her and fucked her hard. He was really wishing he had done that.

Peter Rodgers wasn't always a particularly patient man but was sure he'd get it all eventually. O'Neill gone and Catherine back again. Then he could take her whenever he liked. He enjoyed doing it when she didn't want him to. That was the best time of all.

'Just say no baby. Make me want you even more, enjoy it even more,' he thought, the fantasy making him grunt with desire.

She would come crawling back to him some time soon. Catherine wanted him too, he knew it. Couldn't live without him and, damn it, he'd let her run with her stupid notions of independence for long enough, hadn't he? Yeah, it was time. Well overdue, actually. He'd get her back even if he had to drag her kicking and screaming by her beautiful long dark hair.

Man, he loved when she kicked and screamed, although not too much of it. She could go too far and had the other day. Fought too hard. Way harder than she ever had in the past. The bastard O'Neill's bad influence no doubt. His unexpected visit had served its real purpose though, so that was okay, but he really regretted not taking his wife and giving her a long hard seeing to. Make her beg and screech for more. Make her remember how good they were together.

The thought stirred his groin and Rodgers shifted uncomfortably in his chair. God, he wanted her now, right this minute. He had needs and he was her husband. He had that right - whenever, wherever and however he wished, whether she wanted it or not. He owned her.

"Soon, baby, soon," he muttered aloud. "You owe me."

Rodgers had lavished a large sum of money to confer pain and death on O'Neill and the bastard's survival was an entirely unexpected turn of events. Slowly and painfully bleeding to death in a deserted alley, that's what he had wished for his wife's current lover. The man had the temerity to threaten him and he needed to teach people not to try intimidating Peter Rodgers.

Maybe O'Neill had learned that lesson now. Maybe he'd back off. If he did, it would all come together like Rodgers wanted. If he didn't, well, he'd get what he deserved eventually.

Impatient though Rodgers was in so many ways, he also knew how to wait. He'd waited for Catherine to come back to him for a couple of years now. He'd given her what she wanted. Let her run free for a while. He'd been waiting in this shabby apartment for a couple of days too. Soon, it would be his turn to get what he wanted. 'You'll see,' he thought. 'You'll all see.'

The cops he'd spotted watching the front of her apartment might be a problem, he reflected, but problems are only an obstacle to overcome. Rodgers believed he was good at getting rid of obstacles. Always had been.

No one was watching the back; he could see that from his apartment. Man, cops were dumb. They didn't think he could sneak in the back way and take what he wanted just like that? He could and he would, when it was time. Once she felt secure again, when she least expected it. More thrilling that way. Waiting for the right moment, lulling her into a false sense of security, then bam!

"So look out, Catherine, because I'm coming for you," he muttered under his breath, a grin bigger than Lewis Carroll's Cheshire cat on his lips. "Yep, you're mine and I'm claiming you back, babe. No one gets away from Peter Rodgers unless he wants 'em to."

At that moment, her apartment lit up. Rodgers put his eye back to the glass and watched. Smiling, he wondered what she would think if she realized he was there. Maybe he'd call, describe to her in detail what he could see her doing. That would freak her out and might be fun. What he would give to see the expression on her face when he told her he'd been there watching for days at a time, almost since the day she'd moved in.

On the other hand, there were those damned cops and that element of the unexpected shock he was after achieving. So, he'd wait. Watching and waiting were something he was good at. He wasn't going to wait too long, though. Not this time.

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As she walked into her living room, Catherine pulled off her jacket and tossed it on a chair. She had to admit it felt good to be home. She wanted to be with Jack, sure, and as much as possible, but he was right to insist she came home. It felt safe knowing the cops were outside watching and her husband couldn't get to her. Or she hoped not anyway.

Suppressing nervous nausea at the thought of him breaking in, she poured a large brandy and took a hefty swig, placing it down to finish later. First a shower. She felt grubby and tainted.

Walking into her bedroom, she quickly removed her clothing, throwing it on the bed as carelessly as she had tossed aside her jacket. Then she paused, standing in the middle of the room with her mind on Jack. She missed him so much. What wouldn't she give now for the feel of his arms around her, his breath on her neck, his masculine smell invading her senses, his hands and mouth titillating and teasing her?

Jack was a great lay. The best she'd ever had. When she first saw him in that bar, the physical attraction had been immediate. It was something about how he held himself and moved; those ruggedly handsome but simultaneously surprisingly delicate features; the entrancing smile; the hands whose gestures painted pictures in the air. Straightaway, she had longed for the touch of those long dexterous fingers, imagining the delights they might offer as they languorously roamed over her naked flesh.

So, she'd made her move, from that first moment planning to take him to her bed. Not the first pick-up she'd ever made for the anticipated joy of good sex. She'd had no thoughts of what might happen tomorrow, only what might happen that night. If he was as good as she expected, maybe she'd welcome him into her arms again a few times. Nothing serious, nothing permanent. She did not seek permanence. Not after her husband. Never wanted that again.

She had been so right about Jack. The sex was out of this world and at first their relationship had been all about that. It was all she wanted from him. This had not lasted for long though. She'd been so totally wrong about the casualness. Totally and utterly wrong.

Now, she pined for him. Sure, sex would be good but she longed for way more: his voice whispering softly in her ear; his smile making her stomach flip; his words making her laugh or cry and, most of all, feel. Just to watch him, to listen to his voice, to have him inhabiting the same room.

As she stood there thinking, subconsciously her fingers encircled a bare breast and she gasped, horrified she could even be contemplating that when Jack lay injured in a hospital bed. Shivering slightly, she folded her arms around herself and tossed her raven hair, turning and stalking into the bathroom for that much needed shower and wholly unaware of her husband's prying eyes.

Her watcher licked his lips, drinking in the sight of his naked wife and her obvious needs. Groaning softly at the sight, he briefly considered making his move and breaking into her apartment to take her the way he wanted. Picturing the scene in his mind, a vivid and alluring extension of his earlier fantasy, he almost heard her squeals and whimpering as he seized what was rightfully his.

Shuddering with yearning, the mental vision held him captive in its grasp until, minutes later, his wife reappeared. She was still damp and shimmering with droplets of water, dark wet hair clinging to her back with small strands stuck to her face. Her freshly showered image coalesced with his fantasy, dominating him, enhancing his sexual desire.

As the brutal images in his head conquered him, he longed to control her, use his power to tame and subdue his errant wife. Rodgers enjoyed wielding power in all shapes and forms. In business he was ruthless, a force to be reckoned with. In his private life, he was controlling and cruel, taking pleasure from his sadistic dominion over women in particular but also from the men he saw as rivals to his domain.

On the surface, many people perceived Rodgers as a dazzling charmer, a handsome, desirable and magnetic man. Some who knew him, who had experienced his perversions, knew better, although even they rarely guessed at the truth of him. Inside, he was depraved, a barbarian. He had never beaten Catherine because he was out of control. He had done it because, having taken ownership of her when they married, he could do whatever he wanted and enjoyed tormenting her both physically and mentally.

She was like a favorite toy and he played with her or discarded her when it suited his needs. One moment, he could be kind and considerate, that charmer people saw, and the next he could be vicious and taunting, inhuman.

When he wanted her, she better damned well be there for him or she would pay. She'd better obey him or he would wreak vengeance for her impudence. She should be submissive because she was his wife and she was his, a possession, a plaything, a trophy.

At first, their marriage had been happy, they were the golden couple. Then his true nature started to emerge, piece by malicious piece, worsening over time. He became heady with the power he held over her, caught up with the supreme satisfaction his vindictiveness provided.

Once upon a time, Rodgers had only revealed that true nature to prostitutes - cheap and flashy ones or expensive and classy ones depending on his mood – and he paid them well enough for their trouble. Then he met Catherine and suppressed his inner brute, or while he was with her anyway. He still paid good money for the privilege of keeping his secret and the pleasure of inflicting pain and suffering.

For quite a while after they married, this state of affairs continued. His darker side, however, grew ever blacker, as did his sense of superiority. The escalating feeling of possession, that his wife should do what he wanted and be grateful for it, meant he started to reveal the monster within to Catherine.

The first time he beat his wife, Rodgers made the pretense of being contrite, continued to charm. Until the next time… and the time after that... and the time after that…

She would forgive him, convincing herself his remorse was genuine, that he loved her deeply like she loved him. Then, as the beast roared ever more powerfully, she grew increasingly terrified and seemingly paralyzed by that fear. She obeyed, gradually losing her self-esteem and free will. Catherine's occasional rebellions against his tyranny did not go unpunished and her husband's cruel retribution intensified. Thus, the vicious circle became ever more vicious and circular.

When she left, he was shocked, infuriated. At first he didn't know where she had gone and over time he convinced himself he had set her free for a while, allowed her to indulge her whims. She would be back. Then, once he found her, his obsession grew again, escalating gradually until it was now almost fully developed.

Catherine was a very striking woman, a true prize. Rodgers had always been ambivalent about her innate beauty. Innate because she was no fashion model, attractive yes, but many women were more good-looking. Yet she could captivate a man with ease. Something about her, he guessed. The way she moved, her elegance, a light that shone from within. She was a witch.

The way other men's eyes would ogle her, follow her movements around a room, would drive him crazy. Conversely, it thrilled him to walk with her by his side and see the envy in other men's eyes. Rodgers had never managed to square that circle.

Now, he watched entranced as she wrapped a towel around her head to mop up the excess water. Then she sat with her slim pale back to him, combing and blow drying her hair. He grunted longingly when she tossed those dark dry locks and brushed through them numerous times. Rodgers had always been fascinated to observe as she tamed that wild mass, transforming it into burnished lustrous silkiness.

When she'd finished, Catherine turned to face the window again - naked, oblivious to his presence and as innocent in appearance as Eve before she gave way to temptation. Her pert breasts and sensual curves seemed to taunt him, amplifying his already intense yearning.

The lure, the idea he might cross the street and make her his, screw her senseless, was close to irresistible. She was so gorgeous, so appealing, so sexy. It angered him to think she might be daydreaming about the bastard O'Neill. That she would take him into her bed right now if she could. That he might be watching them doing it if he hadn't put a stop to it.

Breathing heavily, he fought the impulse. Not yet, he thought. Delayed gratification would enhance his pleasure when he finally took her. So he simply continued to stare as she got into bed, pulling the covers over her nakedness and turning out the light.

"Soon, baby, soon," he mumbled almost incoherently, his breath ragged with acute desire.

Turning away from the eyeglass, Rodgers sighed. He had to do something to indulge his deep frustration, he realized, either alone or with a stranger. With a woman was preferable - the pleasure of venting his ire and carnal passion on a whore.

Yeah, he thought, putting on his jacket and leaving the apartment, he'd pick up someone who looked liked Catherine, pretend it was her. Picture her in his head as he did whatever he actually wanted to do to his wife. He'd show that whore bitch what's what. He surely would.

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Pete Shanahan grinned to himself as he studied the report, satisfied with his work so far. He had a way to go yet, sure, but it was coming. He'd get what he really wanted. Frequently did. He was a good cop even if he said so himself. Many agreed, however, so that was satisfying.

Two uniforms had picked up Shady Shaw, who'd been stupid enough to get himself into a bar brawl. Jeez, these criminals could be stupid! Drawing attention to himself, not running or hiding. Overly confident that no one had witnessed the crime. Asshole!

So, now the detective had three of the perps in the O'Neill case. He still wanted the big fish, the man who had conceived and planned the attack, but he needed more evidence of Rodger's complicity. However useful it had been, the eye witness account of a kid and a few suspicions probably wasn't enough and Shaw was just the man to provide what he required.

The other two were small fry. He'd already questioned them and they barely knew Rodgers. They could witness his presence at the scene of the crime, and had made a deal to turn State's evidence, but Shaw was a bigger catch. Shady had hired his two thug friends, but Rodgers had hired Shaw. A better witness by far than any he already had, or certainly for the attack on O'Neill. Catherine Fellowes, well that was another matter. He had no option than to rely totally upon her for that.

Then there was the whore. At least her account confirmed that scumbag Rodgers was still in town, poor woman. The man's arrogance dumbfounded Shanahan. He'd been foolhardy enough to expose himself by beating up on a hooker. Another crime, another witness. Rodgers sure was excelling himself it seemed.

Janeece, as she called herself, was well and truly battered, hardly recognizable as she lay in that hospital bed. Livid bruising and swelling on her face and body, broken arm and a couple of ribs, dark hair pulled out by its roots. From the photos of her he'd seen, Shanahan knew that vermin had ripped into her back too. She was lucky her injuries weren't way worse, lucky perhaps to be alive.

Shanahan had met Janeece before, knew what she was like. Bright, vivacious, a cut above the usual dross of whoredom. A class act. She looked a little like Catherine Fellowes, similar features, hair and shape. It wasn't hard to figure who had been in Rodgers mind while he beat the hooker senseless. He might have paid good money for it, but not nearly enough to compensate for that kind of treatment. No sum of money was sufficient to do that.

The man really was a piece of work. Inhuman. He'd laid into Janeece as if she was worth nothing and probably believed she wasn't. Having paid for it, he'd as good as raped her too and more than once. A violent, bloody attack both sexually and bodily.

He'd told her he got a turned on by having sex outside, offering her extra for the indulgence, luring her out of town to somewhere quiet and isolated. No one could hear her screams. Got a kick from the screeching, or so Janeece seemed to think. As Rodgers laid into her, had sex with her, he'd kept calling her Catherine, bitch, whore and all the names under the sun while also making declarations of love and whispering sweet nothings.

It was sick. Sicker than sick. The man was a head case.

Shanahan had talked to Janeece in the hospital and got the detailed report from the woman detective who'd painstakingly interviewed her. The hooker had identified Rodgers from the photo Pete, prompted by her description, had shown her on a hunch. She wanted this man off the streets. She didn't want anyone else to suffer what she had endured at his hands, promised she would testify. It wasn't every day cops got pros making that promise.

The more he learned about Peter Rodgers, the more Shanahan loathed his namesake with a vengeance. He wondered how many other times such a thing had happened. How many other women had suffered at his butchering hands? Janeece's beating made the cop ponder O'Neill's girlfriend too and what sort of life she might have led with such a man. Had he beaten her like this, come that close to killing her?

As he prepared to interview Shady Shaw, Pete worried. He guessed he'd have to tell Ms. Fellowes about this and he didn't like that idea one little bit. She had to know though, right? He'd have to warn her of the still present danger. However, he dreaded the fear he might see in her eyes, her reaction to the threat.

Instilling that kind of terror into a woman who had probably experienced so much of it already was not something Shanahan enjoyed very much. O'Neill would go ballistic when he found out about this too. That so wasn't good either, he thought.

He had to warn her though, didn't he? This time it was a hooker that looked a little like her but next time…?

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Catherine was getting ready to return to her vigil at Jack's bedside when her doorbell rang. It turned out to be the detective. Now she was less worried about Jack's wellbeing than before, she appraised the cop with new eyes as she let him in.

He was quite handsome in a boyish sort of way. Quite attractive. In other circumstances, she might have been tempted to take him into her bed - if not for Jack and her feelings for him.

As they drank coffee, he gradually revealed why he was there. He was charming about it and sympathetic, but Catherine was horrified.

For a while, she became slightly hysterical. It was just as Shanahan had feared. Tears and terror. He hated himself for making her feel that way. As any good cop should, he tried to remain impassive but it was hard. He liked this woman, felt for her. She was O'Neill's girlfriend and, by extension because the general was Sam's friend, Catherine was his friend too. This was not like a normal case for the detective. It was way more personal. He was probably too closely involved.

So, Pete cracked and comforted her like he never usually would with a victim. He sat beside her, placed an arm around her and hugged her soothingly. She sobbed into his chest, eventually stilling and calming. It took a while for her to get there.

"We'll get him, I swear," he said reassuringly.

"I guess, but it scares me that he's out there, somewhere close by. Next time it might be me."

Pete couldn't disagree. "If he comes here, he's a fool. You know we're watching in case he does show up."

"You can't be everywhere and you can't watch forever."

"No," he admitted reluctantly.

His boss was already on his case about use of manpower. If this had been a homicide things might have been different, but it wasn't. Shanahan couldn't help but wonder if there had been murder somewhere in Rodger's past, but he had no proof of that. It was just a hunch. Hunches are useful but are not always that persuasive and they certainly aren't evidence. He had no idea how long he could continue to try and protect Catherine.

"Are you going to tell Jack about this?" she asked.

"Are you?" he countered. He wasn't sure the knowledge would be good for the man's health.

"No."

He nodded understanding. "Then I won't either. Not yet. He doesn't need to know."

She smiled faintly. "That's good. Thank you. He'll only get mad. He'll want to protect me but he has to rest."

"Sure." He smiled back.

Caught up in a moment of gratitude, Catherine touched her lips to his, closing her eyes, and Pete responded by kissing her back. It became deep and passionate until she suddenly pulled away, a shocked look on her face.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed.

"I kind of liked it," Pete replied cheekily because he had.

"Me too but I should never… Jack… Colonel Carter."

He looked abashed. "Yeah," he agreed. "I love Sam very much. It doesn't stop you being attracted to other people though, does it? It was just a kiss. Just a brief moment. It didn't mean anything did it?"

"I-I just needed…"

"A little bit of comfort, yeah I know."

The pair withdrew from each other, Pete returning to the chair he had been sitting in before he'd moved next to her on the couch.

"I would not be unfaithful to Jack," she declared truthfully. "He's very special to me."

Pete nodded. He felt likewise about Sam. If it weren't for her, he might have been sorely tempted. As it was, the kiss was nice but meant nothing, an aberration sparked by overwrought emotions.

"It was a kiss, that's all. Forget it," he said.

'He makes it sound so simple,' she thought guiltily. "Sure," she said aloud in a chirpy tone, smiling brightly.

Shanahan remained silent, finishing his coffee hastily. "Are you going to the hospital? I can drop you," he offered, rising from his chair.

Feeling self-conscious about her outrageous behavior, Catherine thought about the suggestion uncertainly. She didn't really want to take her car in case she was too tired to drive by the time she left but had to admit she would feel safer with the detective. However, her embarrassment made her hesitate.

"I'm sure you've got a lot to do. I'll get a cab," she replied decisively.

Pete looked at her thoughtfully for a while before responding. "It's not a problem. I'm driving that way anyway." He sighed heavily, regretful of her discomfort. "Look, Ms. Fellowes, we might have a lot of contact over the next few days or weeks, and we might see each other socially sometimes. If you're gonna feel uneasy with me, it could get difficult. You trust me don't you?"

She nodded, surprised at herself because, for some unfathomable reason, she did and Catherine did not trust that many people.

"Then we need to get over this little, well, um… It was only a kiss, okay?" he continued. "You just needed a friend, that's all. Right?"

Grinning, she stood up alongside him. "Can you give me two minutes?" she asked and he agreed, moving toward her front door and waiting.

Exactly two minutes later, she joined him. Exactly twenty five minutes after that, she was walking into Jack O'Neill's hospital room as if she didn't have a care in the world except for him.

O'Neill would never have guessed anything was bothering her but Catherine was a troubled soul. Scared and upset about her husband, remorseful about the brief but passionate kiss. Jack might one day find out about one of those problems but she swore he would never get to know about the other. So, settling down by his bedside for the duration, she held his hand and bantered with him happily as if nothing had ever happened.

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Rodgers was beginning to wish he could see the front of Catherine's apartment block from his apartment but figured he couldn't have everything. He'd rented this place for the great view of her bedroom it afforded him and the fact that it appeared to be empty so she would never guess prying eyes might be looking. A wealthy man, he paid the landlord enough money to keep it that way. She rarely even closed her curtains, which ensured he got the best possible view.

Guessing she had probably left for the hospital again, he decided now was the time for a bit of shut eye. Once he crawled into his bed, however, he realized he wasn't going to find relaxing easy. Still too jazzed from the previous night.

So, he lay and thought about his nocturnal adventure. The whore was quite high class and he'd liked that because Catherine was too. Her close to raven hair was virtually identical to his wife's and she looked very similar too with a comparable facial bone structure and figure. A very nice body she had too but then so did his wife.

It sure had been a pleasure doing business with her and he'd relieved a lot of his pent up tension. The pressure had been building up to a crescendo for quite a while now what with his frustrations about Catherine and the bastard O'Neill. He might have kept control for longer, been happy to continue to just spy on her occasionally - if not for his wife's appearance at the New York benefit.

She'd flaunted her lover right in his face. Catherine shouldn't have done it, embarrassed him like that in front of people who knew him. Her actions had infuriated him. The nerve of the woman! If she was going to fuck other men at least she could so the decent thing and not show off her conquests in public.

The President of the United States had been there for Christ's sake. He obviously knew O'Neill, had greeted him warmly, which just added fuel to his furious internal blaze. The bastard hadn't helped matters either with that encounter in the john. He'd hated O'Neill enough already, what with that great sex he was having with his wife and all. He'd watched them doing it often enough to know.

If she hadn't paraded the bastard publically like that, Rodgers might have been content to leave things alone for a time. These recent events were her fault. She had sparked him off. Her fault. These days it always was.

Rodgers had paid well over the odds for the hooker, called for paramedics afterward, as always. The whore had nothing to complain about. In fact, he was almost certain she'd enjoyed it as much as he had. Of course, she pretended she didn't, which was part of the fun and games for him. Catherine always pretended too, when he took her so forcefully, laid into her, took his frustrations and deep desires out on her.

For Rodgers, this behavior was a clear demonstration of the person he really was. Catherine always seemed to believe it was an aberration. She was wrong.

Once upon a time, he had believed he was wrong to enjoy his acts of violence and violation. Then he convinced himself he wasn't, that it was natural. Certainly it was natural to him, increasingly so as time passed.

Rodgers no longer had any real notion that he was growing progressively crazier and extreme and this made him a very dangerous man indeed.

To be continued


	17. Jack Chills Out

Title: Jack Chills Out

Category: Angst/Romance/Drama

Content Level: Age 13+

Content Warnings: Mild language

Pairings: Jack/other (Catherine), Sam/Pete

Season: 8

Spoilers: Anything up to and including Season 8

Summary: Everyone wants a piece of O'Neill as he reunites with some old friends - and makes some new ones.

Author's Note:

1. Apologies for the long delay in posting a new chapter of this story. Both RL and muses can be a pain! I hope you enjoy it despite the delays.

2. Many thanks to Flatkatsi for going through this chapter and picking up errors and inconsistencies. She always makes me think about my stories and that is so a good thing! I made some changes for the better (I hope) because of her comments and because of my own thoughts on rereading after the beta. Any remaining errors are most definitely all my own work.

**Jack Chills Out**

Young Johnny James' mom was a spoil sport. Or he thought so although he doubted she would agree. Sometimes he hated her. She'd grounded him. Him, a genuine hero! Leastwise that's what other folk said. Not his mom, though. She was too busy punishing him for leaving the apartment while she was out working, didn't give him much credit for saving General O'Neill. It pissed Johnny off big time.

Johnny had been dying to meet the general. A real live Air Force general for pity's sake! He'd never met one before and the prospect was exciting. Detective Shanahan said the general wanted to meet him, thank him personally, but his mom wouldn't let him go to the hospital. No, when not in school, he had to stay home bored out of his mind.

No more playing in alleys, that's what she said. "I don't care if you did save some two bit general's life," she told him. "In this apartment, you ain't no hero! So, don't let all that nonsense go to your head, you hear!"

Her reference to the man whose life he'd saved as a two bit general dumbfounded and angered Johnny. This was not what Detective Shanahan had told him. He'd said General O'Neill was a real hero. Bono fido or something like that, although Johnny hadn't understood that part. Whatever, how dare his mother say he was two bit, just another general. General O'Neill was HIS general. The best Air Force general ever and he, JJ James, had saved him. Shouldn't he be getting a medal or something? His mom grounding him was not a fitting tribute for a hero. No way!

A word beginning with f and ending with k frequently came to mind but Johnny wouldn't have dared say it aloud. Not in front of his mom, anyway. She'd kill him for sure, or maybe even ground him like forever, an even worse punishment. She'd lock him away until he was fifteen or something really old like that. Sometimes, though, he muttered the forbidden word under his breath, in the solitude of his own bedroom. Sometimes he even dared to swear out loud, when his mom wasn't in the apartment.

Johnny burned with resentment. Sometimes he really hated his mom!

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_Present Day: _

Sun dappled through the trees providing well needed shade on a blue-skied, hot, sticky day and Jack surveyed his yard with a contented smile. Surrounded by friends – family – he felt relaxed and happy. It was great to be home.

Set away from the throng, resting and recovering under a shady tree on a lounger, Jack played observer. As if he didn't belong but did. Initially, he'd been overwhelmed by his guests, all wanting a piece of Jack O'Neill, but now they pretty much left him alone to rest for a while. He needed tranquility. Doctor's orders, and Catherine and Doc Brightman ensured he carried them out to the letter.

Brightman could be every bit as intimidating as Janet while Catherine threatened to deprive him of all kinds of things he really wanted to do when he was up to it, like sex and… more sex. Spoilsports.

His guests seemed to be enjoying themselves. Small groups separated from the general melee, chattering amicably amongst themselves. A few kids merrily played with a Frisbee on the lawn, the youngest of the young guests corralled together into a makeshift creche in one corner of the yard. Jack felt good.

Even better, Jack had the perfect excuse to take a back seat and leave the driving up to someone else. No one expected him to be flipping steaks and burgers on the barbecue. No one expected him to be the life and soul of the party, or even to play host. This was his yard but other folk had taken it upon themselves to organize this shindig. A welcome home, if you like.

Catherine played her part but most of the guests were from the SGC. She was reveling in meeting the people Jack worked with. Subtly gleaning information about her lover, increasingly growing to like the people Jack had chosen as friends.

A shadow passed over him and Jack squinted up at the intruder. Cassie.

"You okay?" she asked, squatting down and then sitting cross legged on the grass by Jack's lounger. Fleetingly, Jack wished he was still that young and agile.

"Sure." He smiled welcomingly. "Enjoying yourself?"

Cassie had decided to take some responsibility for the children, ensure they were entertained and looked after. She's terrific with kids, he thought. She'll make a great mom when the time comes.

"It's been fun," she replied.

"I'm glad you could come. I don't see enough of you these days."

"You're either working or with that Catherine women," she responded bitterly and Jack bristled at the hint of spite in her tone.

"You don't like her?" he asked gently, refraining from biting back rancorously, trying not to be too defensive. It worried him what Cassie felt, he was concerned. She might have grown up but Cassie was still very young.

The young woman didn't say anything for a few moments, apparently gathering her thoughts before responding. "I always thought you and Sam…"

Not so thoughtful after all, he pondered, interrupting. "Whoa! You know that's not possible, right?" he said, wondering where the notion had come from. He couldn't fathom why Cassie might think of him and Carter as a potential couple. Sure, there was something special between them and they'd had their moments, but there were very good reasons why neither of them had pursued such a relationship.

"Well, she's engaged to that moron cop, Pete Shanahan, for a start. But I figure all you have to do is snap your fingers and she'll come running."

Jack was startled and stared at her open mouthed. "For crying out loud..." he started after a long pause. "Cassie, there are a million reasons why nothing is ever going to happen between Carter and I."

"Maybe if you stopped calling her Carter…"

"Maybe if I wanted to," he retorted and Cassie glanced at him with a shocked expression.

"You mean you don't?"

"Jeez, Cass, she's a subordinate, a friend, that's all. So forget it." Cassie said nothing, continuing to look stunned, and Jack continued. "Pete isn't a moron, by the way. He's a good cop. One of the good guys. One of us." Cassie snorted derisively. "You've never given him much of a chance. Sam deserves better from you."

Cassie eyed him thunderously, Jack figured because she knew he was right. "You like him?"

Jack nodded. "And Sam loves him so you're gonna have to suck it up."

She turned her eyes away from his penetrating gaze. "I don't believe it."

Using the most conciliatory tone possible Jack replied, "Honey, I'm sorry to spoil your dream but…" He shrugged and sighed. "Catherine is a good woman too. I'd like you to try and get along with her but if you can't it's not going to change anything."

She pouted immaturely and Jack reminded himself not so long ago she had been a child.

"It doesn't occur to you that Carter and I don't share that dream?" he asked.

"Not really. I figure you're both with other people because you can't be together. Those stupid regs!"

Jack rolled his eyes. "I can't stop you thinking, Cassie, but you'll be disappointed. Carter will marry Pete and Catherine and I… well, who knows? I guess time will tell."

"Do you love her?" Cassie asked with a grimace.

Only the young or Daniel Jackson could be that impertinent - and persistent - Jack thought with wry amusement. Cassie could get away with it because she was Cassie. Jack loved her like he might his own child. Anyone else and he would have snapped their heads off by now.

"I don't know," Jack replied honestly. He'd been arguing the toss with himself about that very question for a while now. "But if I do, she'll be the first person to know."

Cassie smiled to herself and Jack thought maybe he hadn't dampened her impossible dream as much as he should have. He made a mental note to mention this strange turn of events to Carter, urge her to speak to Cassie, and then decided it was time to change the subject. Frankly, the young woman's quizzing was disconcerting, not to mention embarrassing.

"How's young JJ getting along?" he asked. Eyeing his savior playing happily with one of the other kids, Jack guessed he was getting along just fine.

Cassie sighed, knowing O'Neill well enough to realize he considered the topic closed. He was a stubborn man. She doubted she would shift him back on track but, being equally as obstinate, remained unconvinced by anything he had said. So, she made polite noises and left him alone again, secretly cooking up scenarios and plans about how she might bring her two favorite people together.

Breathing a sigh of relief and wondering why he let Cassie get under his skin, Jack relaxed back into his shaded lounger. Watching Johnny play, the young boy who reminded him so much of his lost son, he recalled their first meeting. In a hospital that was starting to feel like a prison, a place he'd rather not be ever again. Then, a bright light had appeared out of the gloom. A light that was simultaneously dark, prompting both happy and unhappy memories. The light that was Johnny James.

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_Three weeks previously:_

O'Neill heard the door open and looked up from the report, squinting to see the newcomer through his reading glasses. Raising his hand to his head, he pinched the frame between thumb and forefinger and adjusted the glasses to sit on top of his head. Then he looked again. He had been right the first time. It was Shanahan. With the cop, however, was a small sandy haired boy.

'Much more welcome company,' Jack thought dryly.

Shanahan lightly held the kid by the tops of his arms, encouraging him to enter the room.

"Johnny, this is General Jack O'Neill." He raised his eyes toward Jack. "You wanted to see him so here he is."

"Thanks," Jack said sincerely. "So, you're the kid who saved my life, huh?" he added, peering at Johnny. "Wanna come and sit over here?" he indicated a chair by the bed.

"Yes, sir," Johnny replied, wriggling away from Pete's light grasp and trotting over to take the offered seat. He smiled winningly at the general.

Johnny was very excited to be there but felt slightly awkward meeting his general at last. What does someone say to a general, he thought? He'd been contemplating this ever since Detective Shanahan had persuaded his mom to let him pay this visit, which had delighted the young boy. As a result, the detective seemed an even more heroic role model to Johnny now. Cops always get there in the end, or so the young boy believed.

He'd practiced what to say to his general, thought a lot about it, but now he was here felt more than a little tongue tied. Overawed by meeting his general's Executive Officer on the way in; overawed by the fact there were two guards standing to attention outside his general's hospital room door; overawed that here was his general himself at last. Not that he looked much like a general, just like anyone else in a hospital, but Johnny knew this was the man whose life he'd helped save, uniform or not. He was wishing he could see the man in his dress blues though. That would have been so cool!

"I think the boy who saved my life should be entitled to call me Jack, not sir, don't you?" Jack said with a warm smile trying to hide his consternation.

He had not expected the boy to remind him of Charlie so much. There was something around the eyes, his hair, and when he smiled… He looked a little bit younger than when Charlie had died, but the similarity was striking and punched Jack right in the gut. As if he hadn't been punched there too many times lately already, for crying out loud. Jack fought to keep his self-control.

"B-but you're a general in the Air Force, sir," Johnny replied stumblingly.

Jack grinned. He liked that the kid showed some respect. It was not as common as it used to be. "Even generals have names. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Johnny." He held out a hand to shake the young boy's and the kid shook it enthusiastically.

"JJ," said the boy nervously.

"You prefer JJ?"

"Yes, sir, um… I mean Jack."

"Okay, JJ. I want to thank you for what you did."

"I only called the cops. It wasn't much," JJ said bashfully. In truth, he did believe it was something special but didn't want his general to think he was bragging.

"It was much," O'Neill demurred. "It was a lot more than much. And thanks to you, the guys who did this to me will probably be spending a few years behind bars. Detective Shanahan tells me you want to be a cop when you grow up. You did good, JJ." The young boy beamed delightedly. "You staying?" he asked Shanahan.

"I promised his mom." A condition of Johnny's parole from the confines of home. Shanahan should take him, stay with him, and bring him right back.

'What, she thinks I'm an axe murderer?' the amused Jack joked to himself. "Then I guess you'd better sit down too, detective," he said aloud.

"Sure." Pete pulled up another chair next to Johnny's.

"Are you better?" JJ asked. Now he had persuaded both a real life cop and a general to refer to him as JJ rather than Johnny, he felt good about himself. Well on his way to becoming the JJ of his internal fiction.

"Thanks to you, yeah. I'm gonna be fine."

Feeling slightly more at ease, Johnny's eyes wandered over the room. Before, he'd been too overawed by meeting his general. Now, he started to observe things. Flowers. A basket of fruit. Cake. Lots of cake. Set aside on a separate table, so much cake it looked like the general could set up shop.

His eyes widened and he started to drool, imagining himself biting into a piece and savoring the sweet delicacy. There was chocolate cake, lemon cake, fruit cake, what looked like coconut and other unidentifiable cake. Wow!

"You'd like some cake, JJ?" O'Neill asked, both entertained and disturbed by the young boy's reaction. So much like Charlie. Freaky.

Johnny's wide eyes met the general's kindly ones. "Can I? Yes please sir!" He was wondering why his general had so much cake. Freaky.

O'Neill's gaze wandered to Shanahan's, who moved to help Johnny with the cake.

"Where's it all come from?" Johnny asked with boy like enthusiastic curiosity.

Jack smiled. "Friends," he replied. "Sure beats flowers or grapes," he quipped.

Everyone on base knew the general loved cake and it seemed half of them had decided to send him one. He was knee deep in cake. As ever increasing numbers of cakes arrived with General O'Neill's name on them, it had become the butt of many a joke around the hospital and among his friends. Of course, Jack shared, much to the delight of the nurses. A great deal of the cake had already disappeared. If Johnny could have seen the true extent of cake, he would have swooned. Jack had been highly amused - and very happy now the doctors allowed him to eat some of it.

"What would you like, JJ?" Pete asked the boy and Johnny stared at the cake wondering how to choose.

"Tell you what, JJ," O'Neill said, "you can have more than one piece."

"Wow! Thanks!" he answered with a huge Charlie like smile but then his face fell. "Mom wouldn't like it."

"Mom doesn't need to know, does she detective?"

Shanahan shook his head and grinned. "I'm not telling. Our little secret, right sport? Growing cops and heroes deserve lots of cake don't you think?" His grin broadened and Johnny looked thrilled to pieces.

"Wow!" he exclaimed again. "What's your favorite, sir?" he asked turning to face O'Neill.

"Coconut."

"Cool! Are you having some too?"

"I'm all caked out, JJ," Jack replied patting his stomach and the young boy tittered. Echoes of Charlie. It was both gut wrenching and heart warming to hear.

"C-can I have some of the coconut?" He wanted to eat the same cake his general professed to like. It was exactly what Jack's son would have done.

"Sure. Eat what you like," Jack responded, falling a little bit in love with the young boy.

The memories provoked by JJ's uncanny resemblance to his son were both bitter and sweet. The more he studied the boy, the more similar he seemed to become: some of the same gestures and facial expressions; the wide-eyed enthusiasm and awe; the open admiration.

Most of the time, when Jack was around, Charlie had eyed his dad with that kind of esteem. Sure, they'd had bad times. Often kids don't like being told what to do and can be resentful. Poor Sara was normally the one who suffered that displeasure. His mom, after all, was there all the time while Jack was away doing his job. It was easy for a kid to admire an apparently mysterious and heroic father who was frequently absent. Nevertheless, Jack got a kick out of that high regard and he was getting a kick from it right now with another man's child.

This kid, however, didn't even know him. He was simply enamored with Jack's military rank. That didn't stop Jack from lapping it up and feeling blessed for those good memories.

He watched enthralled as Johnny happily munched his way through a mountain of cake, feeling partly contented and partly disturbed. An odd combination of emotions.

They chatted amiably about this and that, JJ's favorite games, TV and superficial stuff like that. Jack fell deeper for the boy, thinking him charming. He was dazzled, that is if one could say anything dazzled the often world-weary and cynical O'Neill. Johnny certainly did. Like Charlie reincarnated. Strange and unsettling while also good.

Kids had always stirred Jack with something he couldn't even begin to explain. Perhaps his own childlike qualities gave him more empathy with them, perhaps it was something else altogether. Whatever, he had a way with them and they tended to love him.

This child, this re-embodiment of Charlie, stirred him more than most. So when the barbecue was mooted, he thought of JJ, really wanted him to be there, wanted to see him again and enjoy those Charlie like characteristics. Thus, he made it happen.

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_Present Day, Jack's barbecue:_

"Hey, flyboy," a gentle voice whispered. A pair of soft lips brushed his cheek and, realizing he'd been dozing, Jack opened his eyes to greet the affectionate gaze of Catherine.

"Hey," he responded groggily.

She'd brought a chair with her and sat on it next to him. "How you feeling?"

"Tired."

"You want to sleep?"

In an attempt to shake off the last vestiges of his catnap, Jack stretched and yawned. "Not really. Once everyone's gone. Probably should start doing the rounds again soon."

She smiled, stroking his cheek with the backs of her fingers. "No one expects you to be particularly energetic, Jack. You're convalescing."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Bah! I can't lie here forever. It's my party, right? I have to make myself a royal pain in the ass. It's what I do." Catherine giggled.

"Jack O'Neill's party trick?" she joked.

"You betchya," he replied with a grin.

Sitting upright, he slid his legs over the side of the lounger, which tipped and nearly sent him flying. Catherine's eyes widened with dismay but Jack laughed and righted himself.

"I do that too," he declared with a huge smile and Catherine chuckled, leaning closer to kiss him on the lips. Jack took advantage, grasping her hair and thrusting his tongue into her mouth. When they pulled away, the couple eyed each other with longing.

"It's been a while," Jack said.

He hadn't had the energy or much of an inclination to make love to Catherine since the hospital had discharged him. He still ached and found ease of movement difficult. Certain positions were quite painful and he tried to avoid them. Lovemaking had been off the menu.

"Too long," Catherine replied. "Tonight, when they've left." It sounded like a promise and it wasn't like Jack didn't want to but, reluctantly, he shook his head.

"Not sure I'm up to it," he said with a regretful grimace.

"Too much like hard work for you, flyboy?" she retorted with amusement. "I'll do all the work. You don't have to do a thing.

"Sounds cool," he responded with a huge grin.

"Seriously, Jack, if it's gonna hurt..." she said in a concerned tone.

"Won't know for sure unless we try." He waggled his eyebrows in an evocative manner. Making love with Catherine sounded good. An opportunity he shouldn't pass up.

"Wanna try?" she asked.

"Love to. If I can stay awake long enough."

She smirked. "There is that, although I'm fairly sure I can find ways of perking you up General O'Neill. We've got a date."

They grinned at each other until Jack dragged his eyes away from hers and surveyed his guests.

"So how soon can we break up this party?" he said with a broad smile and a wink. Catherine laughed but didn't respond, simply squeezing his hand with affection. They lapsed into silence for a while and Jack turned his eyes back to guest watching. They fell on Johnny and stayed rooted there for quite a while.

"He looks a bit like Charlie, don't you think?" she observed, noting Jack's reaction to the boy. Catherine had studied that face well while painting a watercolor of his son for Jack.

He was a good looking young boy with something of his father about him. She'd often wondered how far that resemblance extended to personality traits, which made her wonder about Jack's ex too, but she never asked. Unless Jack wanted to talk about them, made the first move, Catherine knew better than to raise the subject.

It pained Jack to discuss it even after all this time and raising ghosts that hurt him was the last thing Catherine wanted to do. When she'd unveiled the portrait in Jack's hospital room, he'd been thrilled, but she hadn't failed to notice the dark look in his eyes and the distracted gaze. He'd loved the portrait, been grateful for it, and it hung in his den now. However, he'd put on a brave face and said very little about his son.

Jack stilled at her observation, looking uncomfortable, and Catherine wondered if she had made a blunder. For a moment, she detected a hint of sadness in his face and then he smiled.

"Yeah, he reminds me of him a little," he admitted.

"Is that why you invited him?"

"Perhaps. I really don't know. He saved my life and I'm grateful for that. His mom doesn't have much money. His dad walked out years ago. They live in a bad part of town and... well, let's just say their apartment isn't the greatest. I want to help. I owe him."

Catherine didn't know how to respond. She was thinking Jack might get hurt, that he couldn't simply adopt someone else's son. He seemed so enamored with the kid and she knew it wasn't just because JJ had saved his life. It ran much deeper than that. However, Johnny wasn't Charlie no matter how much Jack might liken the two boys to each other. She didn't like the idea that his confused feelings around the youngster might end up breaking his heart.

As he continued to watch JJ playing, she observed both pain and delight in Jack's expression. It bothered her but she had no idea how to deal with it so she tried to distract him.

"I'd love to paint you again, Jack," she said. "Another portrait to replace the one that bastard destroyed." She was kind of hoping his anger with her ex might bring him back to reality but no such luck.

Jack glanced at her distractedly and mumbled agreement but his eyes immediately strayed back to Johnny again. Catherine bit her bottom lip but said nothing. Meanwhile, Jack recalled facing down JJ's mom in an effort to get the young boy to attend this little get together.

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_A week previously:_

All eyes were on the shiny big black car as it pulled up outside the run down apartment block. It was not the kind of vehicle normally encountered in this neck of the woods - too big, too shiny and too expensively valuable.

The neighborhood's eyes widened even further when a man in uniform got out of the driver's seat and opened the back door. They popped out of their heads when the tall important and distinguished looking grey-haired occupant in dress blues alighted from the car and his driver saluted. The star on his uniform did not go unnoticed.

The local kids scrambled closer to gawk at the black shiny thing but they didn't touch. The uniformed driver looked way too forbidding as he solemnly stood guard over the vehicle. Meanwhile, the passenger stiffly walked into the apartment block and was gone.

This event was going to be the talk of the neighborhood for weeks.

O'Neill should not have been there. Instead, he should have been at home with Catherine recuperating from his injuries. His girlfriend had all but moved into his place temporarily once the doctor had discharged him from hospital and Jack was enjoying that. This, however, was one task he had to do for himself.

He was determined young Johnny's mother should allow her son to attend his upcoming barbecue. There was nothing for it but that he turn up and beg the boy's mom face to face if necessary, and beg he would if he had to. O'Neill hoped he wouldn't have to.

According to Pete Shanahan, Mrs. James had grounded Johnny. The cop had also mentioned Johnny's dream to see O'Neill in his dress blues. Shanahan had tried to persuade JJ's mom to let him attend the barbecue but she seemed immovable. O'Neill intended his unexpected visit, therefore, to kill more than one bird with one stone.

He still ached in various places but, as he stood at the apartment door, you would never have guessed it. His posture was formally erect, the perfect image of a respectable USAF general.

Mrs. James was shocked upon opening her door to such an arresting vision. Her mouth hung open as Jack introduced himself.

"May I come in?" he asked, shooting her an O'Neill smile that was worth a million dollars. Mrs. James wasn't the first woman to find it irresistible and she stepped aside, stammering nervously.

Jack tried to appraise the woman without looking obvious. Johnny's mom was a short, slim woman whose brown wavy hair held hints of the silver that was yet to come. It had a disheveled appearance and she mussed it further by running a hand through it anxiously. Then she attempted to tidy it with her fingers, which didn't help.

Trying to figure her age, Jack concluded the woman was probably in her late thirties or early forties. Her face bore small wrinkles that might have been laughter lines, or not, and her complexion was a little on the pallid side. Washed out might have been a better way to describe it. She looked like she didn't get out in the open air much.

Mrs. James wore a blue apron over dowdy, dark clothing that did nothing to make her appear younger. Then, with a self-conscious expression, she removed it as Jack entered, smoothing over her skirt and blouse with the flats of her hands.

He could see she had a good figure beneath the surface but thought the clothes matched the apartment well. Like its occupant, it needed a lick of paint and new carpets. The idea saddened him. O'Neill sympathized with the woman, felt badly for her and her young son.

The first impression of dreariness ran deeper too. He noted frayed curtains, slightly threadbare furniture, and there was a vague whiff of damp in the atmosphere.

Mrs. James had tried her best to brighten the place up with pictures, ornaments and cushions. Sure, this made the place appear more homely, but these bits and pieces looked like inexpensive junk. The one saving grace of the shabby apartment was its cleanliness. From what O'Neill could see, the place was spotless.

Obviously, this was a family with little money to throw around and Mrs. James was a woman who did the best she could in poor circumstances. Jack figured he should have realized this from the general run down appearance of the neighborhood. Shanahan had told him there was no father in the picture. That Mrs. James worked a couple of jobs to make ends meet.

She left Johnny alone too much, poor kid. He wondered about that. Maybe she had no family to help, maybe she had few friends. Already, Jack was contemplating what he might do to help them out without it seeming as if he was offering them charity and patronizing them.

He was guessing Mrs. James would be insulted if he offered a handout. Jack wouldn't blame her, so he filed the notion away to think about later. Maybe he could concoct some kind of plan. Planning was one of his strengths after all, although this was no military operation.

Exiting his room to see what all the fuss was about, young Johnny's heart skipped a beat when he saw his general in the hallway, wearing dress blues too. Wow!

"General O'Neill, sir!" he exclaimed excitedly and Jack flashed him a smile. "Jack," he corrected hastily, rushing over to greet O'Neill but stopping just short of giving the man a gigantic hug.

"Hiya JJ. How yer doin'?" O'Neill asked with a huge beam, while Mrs. James agitatedly offered him a coffee or some kind of refreshment.

She'd never met a general before and this one looked awesome with all those ribbons on his chest. He sure was a somebody. Immediately, she shifted from her previous position of being highly unenthusiastic about her son's new friend to feeling honored to welcome such a guest into her home.

Although he would have loved to spend time with JJ, this was not O'Neill's purpose, so he concentrated his efforts on the mother. When she gave him his coffee and sat close by, he extolled the virtues of her son and thanked her for allowing the boy to visit him in hospital. By carefully sympathizing with her concerns for Johnny and the fact she had grounded him with such good cause, he won her over.

JJ tactfully kept his mouth firmly shut throughout the exchange. His mom was impressed and an impressed mom was more likely to look kindly on her son. He knew O'Neill had overawed her because she'd carefully combed her hair and applied some lipstick before returning to the room with his general's coffee.

The boy had been driving his mom nuts with his incessant references to his general and bemoaning the fact that she wouldn't let him attend the barbecue. Even his cop hero had left her unaffected, which frustrated and disappointed Johnny considerably. Now, here was the general himself and JJ suspected he knew what Jack was going to ask. He felt honored and overwhelmed.

The dress blues were a great touch, he thought. What could be more impressive than that? He was betting this visit was going to be the talk of the neighborhood for days. Wow!

The youngster was intelligent and streetwise enough to know when to shut up and let the adults do all the talking. Besides which, he didn't want to draw attention to himself. Speaking might risk prompting his mom to remember she was pissed with him and to send him back to his room. He wanted to listen to every word.

When his mother offered his general cake Jack grinned delightedly, making appropriate enjoyment noises while he ate. Then he took a final sip of coffee and pounced.

"I understand why you are mad at Johnny and it's asking a lot, but I'd be really grateful if you'd reconsider letting him come to my barbecue," Jack said smoothly. "I was kind of holding the whole thing in his honor." The latter was a little white lie but Jack sounded genuine. He could charm the pants off a vestal virgin if he tried and Mrs. James was thoroughly smitten.

"And of course, I would expect you to come too, Mrs. James," he continued charmingly. "My driver could pick you both up and bring you home again." Jack might leave himself open to accusations of misuse of resources but he didn't care. He'd pay for it out of his own pocket if he had to.

Ears pricking up at the mention of a driver, Mrs. James' admiration for the general hitched up a few more notches. She hadn't realized how big a deal being a general in the Armed Forces really was. Imagining what her neighbors would say, she had some fanciful thoughts for a few moments. They showed on her face but then her expression changed to a frown.

"I'm afraid I'm working that day," she said in a sad tone, as if she regretted it.

Looking crestfallen, Jack nodded. "I understand. I can't expect Johnny to come without his mom." He fell silent for a while, letting her think about it. "Pity. A lot of other kids will be coming. It would have been great for Johnny to make some new friends don't you agree?"

Mrs. James nodded dumbly and then smiled. The striking smile brightened her face, transforming her appearance totally. O'Neill realized she was actually quite an attractive woman and probably younger than his original estimate by a considerable margin. Years of drudgery had done her no favors. The realization prompted another pang of sympathy along with more thoughts about what he might do to ease the burden on this small family.

Meanwhile, she was thinking how good it would be for Johnny to make friends with the right kind of people. People that lived on a far better side of the tracks then she could possibly aspire to. It was a good opportunity for her son.

"Of course, Johnny could come by himself," Jack posited hopefully, "but I wouldn't want you to feel uncomfortable about it. You don't know me and have no reason to let your son go to a stranger's house without you, but we'd take good care of him. You have my word on that as a general in the US Air Force, and Detective Shanahan will be there to keep an eye on him."

Jack could almost see the cogs whirring around in her brain as she considered this option. He'd thrown in the reference to Shanahan because he had the impression JJ's mom trusted him. He couldn't blame her for feeling doubtful about allowing her son to go off on his own with a whole bunch of strangers. On the other hand, she had let Pete take Johnny to the hospital alone. O'Neill hoped she might relent if someone she knew, a cop, would be around to take care of Johnny.

"Well, if Detective Shanahan will be there…" she started after a long pause for thought, breaking off again and worrying at her bottom lip with her teeth. "And if you can't trust a general in the air force who can you trust?"

O'Neill refrained from comment about whether or not generals could be trusted. He'd met some he wouldn't trust with dime let alone a vulnerable kid. He didn't think pointing this out would help his cause and fleetingly wished he'd brought Catherine along. Maybe Johnny's mom would have responded better to a woman, trusted her more with her son's safety.

Her frank features had doubts visibly etched into them and, for a while, Jack feared he'd lost a battle he'd very much have liked to win. Then, after a long pause for thought, she smiled and nodded her head.

"Sure, why not? I can't keep the guest of honor away now, can I General O'Neill?"

Johnny tried not to yelp aloud with joy at his mom's about face and avoided O'Neill's eyes, still attempting to keep a low profile. His general had just topped Detective Shanahan on his top 10 heroes list. Numero Uno for sure.

Jack was relieved; pleased he'd managed to persuade her. "That's great and very generous of you, Mrs. James," he said smoothly. "It'll be a pleasure to have Johnny there. He'll have a great day. As I said, my driver will pick him up and bring him home again. I'll make the arrangements. He's right downstairs so you can meet him if you like.

Mrs. James' eyes widened at the notion that a chauffeur driven car was sitting right outside her door. Her neighbors would be awed, she thought, just as she was. She felt bitterly disappointed she couldn't attend the barbecue herself. She could have done with making some posh new friends. Then again, she'd never fit in with that kind of crowd, but perhaps her son could. The mother had better ambitions for her son than him becoming a cop.

All notions of punishing Johnny for the disobedient behavior that resulted in saving this man's life had flown out of the window. Maybe it had been fortuitous after all.

"I'm sorry you can't come along as well, Mrs James. Another time," Jack said, very much wanting to find a way to keep in touch with Johnny. Perhaps he should invite the pair of them out for dinner or something. He'd think it over but first things first.

Exhausted by the effort of his visit and having fulfilled his purpose, O'Neill politely managed to extricate himself from the situation. Mrs. James walked downstairs with him, wanting both to meet the general's driver and for her neighbors to know for sure that this distinguished gentleman had been visiting the James'. Johnny tagged along.

Like everyone else had been, they were both very impressed by his car and driver. Johnny grew increasingly excited about the idea of this very same vehicle picking him up and dropping him home again the following week. His friends were going to be green with envy.

"Thank you kindly, Mrs. James," Jack said warmly, shaking her hand and blasting her with another winning smile. The woman's heart positively fluttered.

"You are welcome General O'Neill," she replied with a rather winning smile of her own. "Please call me Georgie."

"For Georgina?" Jack asked and she nodded. "A very pretty name, ma'am." Flattered, Mrs. James blushed.

Johnny had been hanging back and O'Neill turned and winked at him. The boy grinned and Jack walked over to the youngster and grasped his shoulder gently.

"See you next week, JJ," he said with an affectionate smile.

"Yes, sir!" Johnny seemed excited and pleased by the prospect, which in turn excited and pleased O'Neill. "It's so great."

"Yes it is," Jack agreed and he meant it. He was falling ever deeper in love.

The mother and son watched in awe as the driver opened his door and the large shiny black thing pulled away. Once the visitors had left, their neighbors were not backward in coming forward to get the gossip. Suddenly, a bunch of dazzled kids surrounded Johnny.

"Go play with your friends, Johnny," his mother encouraged and, inside, JJ punched the air with joy. It seemed his mom had lifted her restrictions. His general deserved a brand spanking new medal for that feat alone.

As he ran off to play, Mrs. James held court with the adults, proudly reminding them about her son's act of heroism and answering their questions about O'Neill as best she could. It was possible she was prone to some slight exaggeration during this exchange.

Meanwhile, O'Neill slumped into the comfortable backseat of the sedan and groaned, tired and aching more than he had in a few days. When he got home, Catherine insisted he lie down to rest and he slept soundly for the rest of the afternoon. The contented sleep of someone who had just pulled off something they'd been eager to achieve.

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_Present Day: Jack's barbecue:_

"You've got some great friends," Catherine commented interrupting his train of thought, and Jack turned his attention back to her again.

"Yep, I'm a lucky guy," he agreed. "They all seem to like you too."

"Young Cassie doesn't seem to like me much."

Jack grimaced. "Cassie has dreams. Don't worry about her, she'll come around."

"Dreams?" Catherine queried curiously.

Jack sighed. "About me and Carter. She's got it into her head…"

"Doesn't she have good reason?" Catherine asked and Jack stared at her long and hard trying to remember what he'd ever told her about Carter. Then he recalled their first night together, after Sam and Pete's engagement party. Apparently, he'd called out Sam's name in a dream.

_"Who's Sam?" Catherine asked when he returned from the bathroom and Jack froze, feeling foolish standing in the middle of her bedroom naked._They'd never talked about it since but Catherine knew Carter was important to him.

"What?" he croaked.

"You called out that name in the night while you were asleep."

"I did? Oh crap!" He looked embarrassed. "I'm sorry, Catherine." Hurriedly, he reached for his boxers, sitting on the end of the bed to put them on, but Catherine moved quickly to intercept him, grasping his arm.

"What are you doing?" she asked, "Don't go, Jack."

"I thought... It's not exactly the done thing to cry out another woman's name while you are in bed with someone else, is it? Don't you find that just a little insulting? I didn't mean..."

"So it is a woman? Jack, I'm not pissed with you. Please stay. Who is she?" she asked again calmly, and Jack looked at her with surprise.

"You really want me to stay?"

"I like you, Jack, a lot. I enjoy your company and you are damned great in bed. So what if you have some issues? Don't we all? You gonna tell me who she is?"

Jack sighed deeply, flattered by her words and grateful that she wanted him to stay, but deeply humiliated by his blunder.

"Sh-she's the woman whose engagement party I was at last night."

"The attractive blonde? Oh!"

"Yeah, oh."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It would never work between us. Besides, it's against regulations."

"She doesn't have good reason," he replied. "Only in her head. Carter's a friend."

"And a subordinate."

"There is that," Jack responded with a wry smile.

Taking a breath, Catherine wasn't sure if she really wanted to know the answer to the next obvious question and steeled herself to ask it. Jack was used to her self-confidence so she used it in her favor although inside she felt differently.

"If she weren't?"

O'Neill looked at her sharply. "Weren't a subordinate?" He seemed to ponder that a while before continuing. "Maybe once. She's engaged for crying out loud. Pete's a friend too."

Of sorts, he thought, surprising himself with the words he'd spoken. The tenuous friendship was a recent thing. Now he considered it, thinking of Shanahan as a friend was a pretty weird concept as it hadn't always been so. Jack recalled resenting the man a little; perhaps even feeling slightly envious of his relationship with Carter. It all seemed a long time ago now though.

Maybe Cassie did have good cause for her dream after all, or she had. Not anymore, he thought. Sam was probably one of the most important and influential women in his life but then so was Catherine. What he felt about each of them was entirely different.

"Not anymore, Catherine," he added with a serious expression, capturing her eyes. "Right now, there's you isn't there?" He smiled affectionately and Catherine let out an internal sigh of relief. She had never intended to fall for this man but she had. There was no stopping or denying that but she still didn't voice it.

"I'd like Cassie to like me because I know how important she is to you," she said. Jack had never talked about the young woman much but when he did, his strong paternal feelings were obvious. Even more obvious now she had finally seen the pair of them together.

"As I said, she'll come around. I'll talk to Carter," Jack said, smiling and then rising carefully from his lounger. "Time for those rounds now I think."

When Catherine stood up alongside him, he gave her a loving peck on the cheek and squeezed her arm.

"Later, right?" she said with a wink and grin. They were on a promise and she was looking forward to seducing him, assuming he genuinely was up to it.

"You betchya. I'm gonna hold you to that."

He beamed broadly and then moved away to approach the throng, stopping off for a few moments to speak to JJ before starting to circulate the rest of the crowd.

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Lou Ferretti and Dave Dixon were bickering about whose team was the best. The two men did this virtually every time they met and the light-hearted banter had almost become a ritual, close to as habitual as breathing. The whimsical ribbing was an anticipated feature of their amity, renowned among their friends and throughout the SGC - as expected and frequent as Siler's regular appearances in the command's infirmary.

"You could say SG-1 is the best," Jack intervened jovially as he approached.

Dixon eyed him acerbically. "Playing favorites, general, sir?" he responded mockingly, good-humoredly reminding O'Neill that he was the boss so shouldn't play that game.

Jack snorted. "Well, they have got the one in their team name for a reason," he retorted, eliciting grins from the two men. "No favorites. I love you guys." His tone was affectionately teasing.

He had known both of these men for many years and counted them as good friends. Most people at the SGC knew Jack had a soft spot for SG-1, understood why and did not find it offensive. This pair, who knew Jack better than many, resented it even less than most. Similar comments were yet another expected variation of the repartee whenever O'Neill was around.

The men played poker on a regular basis and O'Neill had never allowed his promotion to get in the way of their friendship. In fact, he balanced the two roles with aplomb, in the same way that he managed to avoid any appearance of playing favorites with SG-1 in terms of his commander's duties.

He might have had doubts about being the man but it turned out O'Neill was good at it, which was something of a surprise to Jack himself. He respected these man and they knew it, thinking highly of him in return. Jack didn't suffer fools gladly, but not many of the people under his command were fools. If they were, they didn't last long because they should never have been assigned to the SGC in the first place.

"How you doing, Jack?" Ferretti asked, using the informal salutation of habit when off duty. On duty, it was sir and general, always. These men drew lines because it was important to, and they normally knew where to draw them.

"Just peachy, Lou," Jack replied with a grin, although his tone of voice was slightly sarcastic. "Having fun?"

Dixon replied instead. "You always did know how to throw a party."

"I can't take any credit for this one. Catherine and Carter did most of the hard work. I just had to sit back, relax and get bored out of my freakin' skull."

The two men smirked, knowing very well how much O'Neill hated convalescing.

"Can't wait to climb back into the hot seat, eh, Jack?" Lou said rhetorically and Jack merely rolled his eyes, indicating agreement.

"It's real good of you to go get yourself damaged again just to have an excuse to invite us all around," Dixon inserted drolly and Jack chuckled.

"Any time guys. There's nothing quite like a close brush with death to make you realize where your priorities lie, or to make you re-prioritize." Jack replied ironically.

"You must have done the re-prioritizing thing quite a few times then, huh?" Lou joked and a small smirk appeared on Jack's face as he rolled his eyes once again.

"You've been there too, Lou."

Close brushes with death were all too frequent for these explorers. The people at this party were the lucky ones. Too many had not been so lucky and none of the men commented as their minds turned as one to contemplating this quirk of fate. It was as if they all knew what they were thinking.

"Your kids seem to be enjoying themselves, Dave," Jack said after an appropriate respectful silence, hoping to lighten the tone

Dixon's eyes scanned the yard, taking in the antics of his children. "The four of them fill up the whole yard," he kidded. "Seriously, Jack, you should have invited Judy and the kids and sent me off world." His manner was tongue in cheek. O'Neill and Ferretti were used to such comments from Dixon about his family.

"You betchya," Jack retorted, knowing as well as anyone that his friend didn't mean it. He was crazy about his family. "I can see why four of 'em ganging up on you might be scarier than facing down the System Lords and their cronies."

"You got that right," Dixon agreed amiably. "You should be sending them on missions. We'd lick those mothers in two seconds flat with them on our side."

Jack laughed. "They'd make quite a team."

"Take 'em, they're yours!" Dixon quipped. "Assuming you're happy to set up a five person team."

It took a couple of seconds for the penny to drop and then Jack's eyes widened. "Judy's pregnant again?" he asked with astonishment and Dixon nodded. Clearly, this was not news to Ferretti and O'Neill wondered what other tidbits he had missed while in hospital. "Jeez, Dave, you still haven't learned to keep your dick in your pants?"

"Apparently not," Dixon replied with an amused snort.

"I guess congratulations are in order," Jack said, patting his friend on the back and shaking his hand simultaneously. "Don't know how you do it man."

When Dixon shot him an amused sneer, Jack looked puzzled for a moment and then a small shy smile appeared on his face when he realized what he'd said. "Well, I do know that part," he added haltingly. "I'm just sayin'…"

A cheeky grin appeared on his face and he flourished his hands in a display of all male camaraderie. The three men exchanged humorous grins of the type men share in the locker-room after cracking a ribald joke. Dixon's expression, however, quickly became serious.

"This has got to be the last," he said with a sigh. "I love the kids but five, damn it, that really is a handful."

"You said that after you'd had two of 'em," Ferretti commented. "But if I had a wife like Judy…" He might have left the rest his remark unsaid but the other men knew what he was driving at. Everyone agreed that Dixon's wife was one hot broad.

Dave smiled and glanced at his wife, who was engrossed in conversation with Carter and Daniel. They were right about Judy. She was quite some woman; a cross between Miss World and Mother Teresa with a soupcon of Superwoman thrown in for good measure. In Dixon's heavily biased opinion, of course.

"She sure is something," he replied thinking it was surprising he could ever keep his dick in his pants with Judy around. Having four kids tends to cramp one's style of course, so the couple was far from problem free in that department. In other departments as well, but Dave Dixon still loved his wife dearly and continued to fancy the pants off her despite the chaos that seemed to plague their lives.

Like O'Neill, Dixon was a lapsed Catholic. However, his wife, while not devout did not favor contraception any more than her church did. Now she was pregnant for the fifth time, they'd had yet another argument about it and Dave hoped Judy was at last coming around to his way of thinking. Although he didn't relish the idea, a quick snippety doo dah, as O'Neill might call it, would be the best thing all round for the Dixons.

Sensing some unease from his friend, Jack changed the subject. "By the way, guys. Any idea where Teal'c is?" He'd noticed the Jaffa's conspicuous absence and had been asking the few people who might know something about it as he socialized with his guests.

The two men looked at him blankly. "Haven't seen him since yesterday, Jack," Lou replied. "Have you asked Sam or Daniel?"

O'Neill nodded. They were the first people he'd mentioned it to and they didn't have a clue where the Jaffa was either. No one had seen him, he'd never arrived. It wasn't like you could miss the man when he was around even if he didn't breathe a word.

Truth be told, Jack was disappointed and hurt by his friend's no show. It was unlike Teal'c, so it also had him worried. Carter had called the SGC and as far as they were concerned, Teal'c was at O'Neill's place. It was all very puzzling and made O'Neill's heightened suspiciously cautious and worst case scenario like senses tingle uneasily.

Where the hell was the big guy?

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Teal'c was a large man, muscular, powerful. As a soldier of Apophis most of the time he was obliged to wave a big stick, beat people with it and make a lot of noise doing it - to be obtrusive. It was the way of things with the Goa'uld. They loved a show, the overly dramatic, and ruled through fear. Obtrusive suited their purpose.

The old Jaffa warrior, however, was a king amongst the stealthy. Good at being a shadow, superb at hiding and moving in them, tracking his game without them becoming aware of it.

So, now Teal'c double checked his hat hid his gold tattoo well, and patted his pocket with a satisfied smirk. Sneaking a zat out of the SGC was easier than he thought it would be, and he had the perfect excuse for leaving the base. O'Neill's barbecue.

Pressing into the shadows of the wall, he waited patiently. The man would show himself eventually, of that he was certain, and Teal'c was equally sure he would ultimately lead him to his prey. His pair of emotionless and determined eyes watched and bided their time.

TBC

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2009 Su Freund


	18. Jack's Disquiet

Chapter summary: "All in all, this mix of events was marring his enjoyment of the welcome home shindig, although Jack was doing his damndest not to let them."

Author's Note: As always, I am very grateful to Lynette (Flatkatsi) for beta reading this story and for her thought provoking comments. I made a few changes for the better, I hope, as a result. Any remaining faults with the chapter are entirely mine.

**Jack's Disquiet**

_O'Neill's House:_

The last embers of burning charcoal had died down and the sky had darkened along with them. Most of the guests had already left and only a core few of O'Neill's friends remained. It was warm outside and too muggy inside, so they stayed in O'Neill's yard drinking and chatting. A few scattered solar powered lights gave off an atmospheric glow. Quite intimate.

Catherine sat by Jack, her hand lightly resting on his arm. She was enjoying the company of his remaining friends, listening to amusingly wrought tales of past off duty antics from the likes of Ferretti and Dixon, whose wife and kids had gone home already.

Sometimes Jack would grunt with disgust at the stories of their friendship and his role in their activities, shooting a warning look at his friends. Sometimes he would laugh aloud, although that seemed to hurt him a little, so he tried to minimize his amused reactions. Sometimes, he too had a tale to tell.

She noticed when Jack spoke, he rarely referred to himself but to the actions of others. This was as much a telling revelation about the man as the engaging accounts of his friends. Catherine figured he'd prefer it if they kept their mouths shut about his past but he did not say as much in so many words. It was his party and he was playing the genial host. The guests, however, heeded those warning looks and she would love to have known what they didn't reveal.

These stragglers were the people from Cheyenne Mountain that Jack was closest to and this was adult only time. Catherine was aware there were more than humorous stories making him feel slightly ill at ease.

All the kids had left and she knew Jack was already concocting ideas about how he would manage to keep young JJ in his life. Catherine still had some concerns about his reactions to the boy, who he'd ended up spending a big chunk of time with earlier on when he wasn't simply observing him.

Sam and Daniel were not amongst the stragglers. They'd returned to the mountain for some reason linked to the absence of Teal'c at the barbecue, or so she gathered. Catherine knew his friend's absence bothered Jack, that he was worried. Not that he'd said anything directly to her, but the impression of displeasure mixed with concern was hard to miss. He'd been making his disgruntlement known in a typical O'Neill like way, but she'd noticed the anxiety too.

Then there was the fact that, while he was enjoying himself in some ways, Jack was also itching for his guests to leave. He and Catherine were on that promise of sex once they'd gone and her lover would refer to it from time to time in whispered tones that no one else could hear.

The poor man was exhausted and aching and fretting that he would not be up to the task. This was despite what she'd said about him letting her do all the work. Catherine wouldn't have been at all surprised if Jack fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. She figured there was always the next morning but he was looking forward to doing the deed tonight. Just like a man. No patience when it came to the sex thing.

All in all, this mix of events was marring his enjoyment of the welcome home shindig, although Jack was doing his damndest not to let them. In fact, on the face of it the man looked positively relaxed. Catherine knew better and if she did then his close friends must know it too. However, they showed no sign of it either and were doing their best to entertain him.

"I guess I should be getting back to the mountain," Dixon said during a lull in the conversation. He eyed Jack in a knowing, concerned like way. "Give Sam and Daniel a hand."

"You don't have to, Dave," O'Neill responded with a carefully schooled blank expression.

"Oh, I think I do," he replied with a faint smile. He knew Jack was worried, despite his bluster about Teal'c's apparent disappearance.

"You should get back home to your wife and kids. You're off duty," Jack said blandly.

"They'll never miss me," Dixon retorted, his smile now a wry grin.

"Hey, man, I'll come with you," offered Ferretti.

"Look guys…" O'Neill started but Dixon didn't let him finish, instead getting up and stretching.

"Yep, I miss that place," he commented. "More like home than home."

"Me too," Ferretti agreed, also rising to his feet.

"I, um… thanks," Jack said, his tone announcing his gratitude way more than his words. "But haven't you guys had a bit too much to drink? Go home, sleep it off."

"Too much to drink?" Dixon replied with a chuckle. "You're kidding, right?"

"I could make it an order," O'Neill said.

"But you won't."

Dixon smirked devilishly and the three men exchanged looks that Catherine was certain meant a great deal to them. Secret long friendship type stuff that she knew was beyond her full understanding.

Then Jack nodded, getting up as well and disappearing with the two men to see them out.

"You don't have to do this," he said at the door.

The two friends smiled. "We know," Lou said, "but it's the right thing to do. It's not like Teal'c. We'll find him."

O'Neill grimaced. "When Teal'c's out on his own he seems to get into a whole heap of trouble."

"We'll sort it, Jack, whatever it is."

This time, O'Neill smiled. "Sure you will. Thanks. Keep me posted, okay?"

He was genuinely grateful the two men had thrown their hats into the ring. With Daniel, Carter, Dixon and Ferretti on the case, they'd get to the bottom of whatever had happened to Teal'c. He had confidence in these people and, in his own absence on medical leave, couldn't think of a better combination of talent.

"If you need me… you know where I am," O'Neill added and the two men agreed, although they had no intention of allowing him back at the SGC yet. Not if they could help it. On the other hand, a general's clout might come in handy, you never know. It depended on what problems they encountered.

Frustrated he couldn't be with them, although knowing he wasn't really up to it, Jack returned to his guests. Sure, he was feeling much better, which didn't mean he was fighting fit. O'Neill figured he might be more of a hindrance than a help at this point. He was exhausted. The party had taken a lot out of him even though he had relaxed through a lot of it.

The few remaining visitors took their cue from Dixon and Ferretti and left shortly afterwards. Once he'd seen them out, Jack returned to the yard and reached for another beer. Catherine's arm shot out to stop him from opening it.

"Now they've all gone, let's make good on my promise," she said in a sultry tone.

Jack frowned in a regretful manner. "Too much on my mind, Catherine, and too tired."

She was half surprised given his earlier hints, but the other half almost expected this kind of response.

"I don't really know or understand exactly what's going on, Jack, but I do know you're worried about your friend. I can't help you with that but I can help take your mind off it."

He was still standing over the beer filled cool box and she reached out for him, enveloping him in her arms and hugging him close. Then she pulled away slightly, a hand softly stroking his cheek, her lips alighting on his and kissing him.

Jack couldn't have stopped himself from responding even if he had really wanted to. Her mouth was moist and succulent, her tongue evocatively probing.

"Bed," she said breathlessly as she pulled her lips away.

"Clear up time…" he said, waving at the mess that was his yard.

"Tomorrow."

"I'll fall asleep."

She smiled faintly. "So what if you do? There's always tomorrow for the sex stuff too." She winked suggestively.

"So, no excuses?" he said.

"You want them?" She was smirking so Jack knew Catherine wasn't taking his unexpected reluctance to heart. He grinned idiotically, trailing his fingers down her back.

"I guess not."

"Well then, flyboy, I can't think of anything much better at easing the mind than sex. Let's go." She took his hand, tugging lightly, and Jack chuckled.

"Alright already, you've got me! Just be gentle with me, okay?"

"My poor baby is hurting?" she asked in a teasing tone.

"Like hell."

"I can do gentle, I promise."

Smiling, Catherine led him to the bedroom and kept her earlier promise. Jack didn't fall asleep as she made love to him like he had feared but when he did sleep, he was out cold.

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_The SGC:_

"I didn't realize Teal'c had picked up so much about using computers," Carter mused as she attempted to retrace her colleague's online activities.

"He sees everything. Must learn it too, apparently," Daniel replied, peering over her shoulder at the screen.

After making some initial enquiries with security, the pair was even more worried than before. Ferretti had told them he hadn't seen Teal'c since the previous morning and it appeared no one else had either. He'd left the base more than a day ago and they cursed themselves for not noticing before.

Teal'c, however, often tucked himself away in his quarters. Sometimes they wouldn't see him for a day or two, especially when they were distracted and busy, which they had been. Nevertheless, it seemed he was AWOL. Everyone had assumed he was helping O'Neill with arrangements for his barbeque because this was the impression he'd given.

Hastily, they moved onto their team mate's quarters looking for clues. Recently, Teal'c had got into computer games: role playing and The Sims, he told them. He said it told him a lot about Tauri ways. One of the first things Sam noticed about his quarters was that he'd left his laptop switched on. So she looked at that while Daniel hunted elsewhere.

It was almost immediately obvious to Carter that games had been the last thing he'd been involved with. She dug deeper. He might have learned a lot about using a computer but it appeared he had not learned, or didn't care much, about covering his tracks. Daniel did not find anything helpful in his search through Teal'c's quarters but it seemed Sam had hit the mother lode.

Teal'c had left his supersized footprints all over the PC. After some digging, Carter thought she'd caught on to what he was up to - if not the detail, then the general gist.

"I think this might be some kind of Jaffa revenge thing, as the general might say," she told Daniel. "It looks like Teal'c might have been studying his quarry, trying to figure out how to track him down. He's been checking him out as well as looking at police reports, court records and things like that. I can't believe he's hacked into some of these places. Go Teal'c!" Carter was impressed. Her Jaffa team mate was a very dark horse indeed.

"So he's trying to find Peter Rodgers?" Daniel asked and she nodded. That much seemed clear from her discoveries so far. "If he finds him, I almost pity the guy. But if the police can't…"

"Teal'c is Teal'c. He has skills the police evidently don't have or won't use. He doesn't have to concern himself with legal niceties, police department budgets, the command chain in the force or any of that. He's been looking into details of the thugs Rodgers hired. Look who made an appearance in court a couple of days ago."

Daniel examined the web page. "Shaw. He's the guy your Pete mentioned isn't he?" Sam nodded agreement.

"Bad guy for hire. Pete calls him Shady Shaw," she informed Daniel with a small smile and he grinned. "He must have had some damned good representation because he made bail. Not so likely in a case involving violence. A large sum too."

"No doubt paid for by Rodgers," Daniel commented tartly.

"No doubt. The guy is wealthy and it's in his interests for these men to disappear isn't it? Witnesses. He'll probably pay them off. Maybe he paid off the judge too. Who knows?"

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Daniel asked and she glanced up at him.

"If you're thinking Teal'c might have tracked this guy in the hope of finding Rodgers through him, yeah."

"Yep, that's what I'm thinking."

"We should tell General O'Neill."

Daniel sucked in a breath, shaking his head. "We need to figure out more first. He'll only worry and be pissed. Let him recuperate, Sam. You know Jack. He won't be able to keep out of it. He needs to rest."

Sam looked at him pensively. "He'll be pissed if we don't tell him."

"Yeah, well I'm willing to take that risk. You?"

Carter grinned. "Okay partner. Although you aren't the one he might court martial."

Pushing his glasses up his nose, Daniel pondered that. "Actually, we aren't acting on Jack's orders. If you don't tell him, he can't order you to do anything so you can't be disobeying orders… um… technically speaking."

Her eyes narrowed briefly and then she chuckled. "Technically speaking, I guess you're right." She glanced back at the screen. "We might be too late to stop Teal'c. If stopping Teal'c is what we plan to do. Is it?"

"Good point. What exactly are we doing, Sam?"

She stared at him for a few moments, deep in thought. "We're supposed to be finding Teal'c, right?"

"No actual… um… stopping involved?" he queried in a slightly ironic tone that Sam thought was a bad habit picked up from their erstwhile team leader.

She frowned. "I don't want him to get into trouble, do you? Anyway, have you ever tried stopping Teal'c from doing something once he gets it into his head?"

"Ummm… not easy," the archeologist replied rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Unless we happen to have a Mack truck to hand that is." They both smirked. "But it might not be easy to find him either. Teal'c is the only guy I know who might possibly outdo Jack on the covert ops front."

"Humph. You might be right about that."

"So what do we do?"

"Shaw's address is right here in the police records." They both knew Teal'c would have spotted that. It could well have been their team mate's starting point.

"Thinking of paying a little visit?"

"Couldn't hurt. Got to start somewhere."

"And where exactly is that?" A voice asked from behind them. Dave Dixon's voice.

Carter turned toward the door, eying the newcomer with surprise. "Party over?" she asked.

"It is for us," Dixon said as Ferretti popped his head around the door to join them. "So where do you want us to start?

Carter smiled. It was good to have friends and her CO had a whole bunch of very fine ones.

They agreed Dixon should lead the team out in the field with Carter staying behind to sift through the laptop for more information. She hadn't had time to check out everything on the laptop yet and was better at that kind of thing than any of them. Sam was none too happy about the arrangement because she wanted to be out there with them. Teal'c was her team mate, after all, and her friend. However, if the Shaw lead proved fruitless, she accepted she might learn something else useful by delving further into Teal'c's footprint online.

Sam wasn't one hundred percent happy about doing that either. Teal'c would probably be pissed about her looking through his personal stuff, but there might not be many other options so she sucked it up. She'd deal with her team mate later if she needed to.

Despite what she'd said to Daniel, what O'Neill might say when he found out about all this still bothered her too. He probably wasn't the only one who would be pissed if they kept him out of the loop either. She realized her fiance was not going to be very happy if he found out. She should be bringing him in on it because it involved his case and Pete took his cases very seriously indeed. Sam knew that, but she still wasn't going tell him a damned thing. She would cover Teal'c's back instead.

Pete was usually adorable but sometimes he was a little hard to take. He was annoyed Sam cut their evening short and didn't want her returning to the mountain. She could see his point but insisted. It was important, she told him; Teal'c was important. They'd had a minor argument about it but made up before going their separate ways. She didn't want to exacerbate anything by locking him out but she was doing her job. If her work trod on his toes then so be it.

What had surprised her about their earlier disagreement was Pete's jealousy. His reaction wasn't overt or excessive but was obvious. Apparently, he resented the close friendship with her team mates, that she would give up free time with him to help one of them. He was jealous of all of them but, it as became clear, particularly O'Neill.

Carter had never realized this before. Admittedly, she could see Pete's reasoning. She even acknowledged, somewhat reluctantly, that he might have good cause to feel a stab or two of jealousy about her relationship with and feelings for her CO. Her fiance had two eyes in his head and a suspicious nature. After all, he was a cop. He observed things. On the other hand, she'd agreed to marry Pete. Surely that was enough to satisfy him she was committed, wasn't it?

Unfortunately, at his barbeque earlier O'Neill hadn't helped matters by pulling her aside for a private conversation. A conversation Pete had obviously observed even though he didn't know what words they had exchanged. It had been an uncomfortable dialogue. Nevertheless, some of those long buried feelings and a certain slightly non-regulation intimacy might easily have been plain to see on either one of their faces or in their demeanors.

While the men geared up appropriately for an Earth bound mission, and Carter continued to delve deeper into Teal'c's online activities, she recalled their exchange. Sam still squirmed inside a little as she thought about it.

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_Earlier that day at O'Neill's barbeque: _

Sam was in the kitchen getting more beers and when she re-entered the living room, the unmistakable outline of O'Neill blocked the patio door. Backlit by the sun outside, he appeared as a dark shadow surrounded by a bright glow. She paused in her step.

"Hey, Carter," he said jauntily.

"Sir," she acknowledged.

"Could we have a word?"

Something about his tone raised a red flag and the whole notion of having "a word" with her CO took on a meaning that made Sam ill at ease. It sounded like the word he wanted was an important one, with a tinge of personal rather than business. She knew O'Neill well, could read the signs. Personal was not usually something the pair of them did. Awkward.

She nodded reluctantly and he indicated a chair, one that was in full view of the partygoers. O'Neill wasn't risking anyone misconstruing this private audience. Putting the beers down on the nearby coffee table, she sat where he suggested and he too settled in a chair where his guests could see him. Jack figured they wouldn't be disturbed but if they were, he'd growl and bark. It would scare off interlopers.

Saying nothing, Sam sat impatiently waiting for him to start. She might not want whatever this conversation offered, but if she was going to get it anyway she would rather it was over and done with.

"Odd about Teal'c, don't you think?" he said. Sam did not think this was why he wanted to speak to her. He was breaking the ice, or getting his thoughts in order. Whatever. She was used to O'Neill evasiveness and avoidance about some things. She admired and respected him, or at least most of the time, but he could also be exasperating.

"Yes," she agreed. "Are you worried?"

"Just a little. More disappointed than anything."

Sam was surprised, not at the fact of it but that her CO stated it. "He must have good reason for not coming."

"Or something's wrong." Jack frowned.

"Do you think… what does your spidey sense say, sir?"

O'Neill snorted and chucked. "Spidey sense?" he queried.

Carter threw him a grin. "You know, Spider Man. The movies."

"The comics. Yeah I remember." They'd been around when he was a kid. "You think I have spidey sense?" He looked amused and Sam's smile broadened even further.

"Well, sir, what else would you call your gut feelings?" Over the years, she'd learned to trust those feelings.

"Umm… gut feelings?" he replied wryly and Sam giggled.

"So? Have you got any gut feelings?" she pressed.

"Sure. A slight case of indigestion," he said with a lopsided grin. "But you know me, always thinking the worst. I guess if he doesn't show soon we might have to go look."

Sam thought if the general had indigestion, she probably ought to take it as a bad sign. He had a strong constitution so his gut was telling him something. However, she nodded and said nothing, making mental plans to go back to the SGC real soon to lead the hunt for her team mate. She was concerned about Teal'c too. It didn't take her CO's disquiet to alert her own brand of spidey sense. She'd been growing increasingly uneasy about Teal'c's absence as the day wore on.

"I'll go back to the SGC. Try and work out what's going on."

"You're off duty, Carter."

She grunted at the comment. "As if that's ever meant anything. My gut is talking to me too."

"Okay. It's your team. I would go but…" He waved an arm around as if that told her what the buts were and Carter knew him well enough to understand exactly what he meant. This was his party, he wasn't passed fit for active duty, so he should stay at home. Not that either of those impediments would stop him. His reference to Teal'c being a member of her team, however, was his way of saying he trusted her to do what he would do.

"Pete won't be happy," she said and he shrugged.

"Give T another hour or so," he suggested. "Maybe he just stopped off somewhere on the way." She nodded agreement although couldn't help thinking if her team mate was coming he'd be there by now. Sam figured the general knew this too.

He shifted in his chair and she noticed him place his hands on his ribs and grimace.

"Are you okay, sir?" she asked.

"Fine," he claimed but noted her skeptical look. "Aching," he admitted. "A little tired."

Sam had been feeling on edge ever since the attack. The agitation might have faded as her CO recovered but it still nagged. She guessed she wouldn't feel one hundred percent happy until he was one hundred better and she could see the proof with her own eyes. Right now, he was far from one hundred percent.

"You are okay, though, aren't you? I mean really okay," she asked insistently, leaning forward and eyeballing him as if a long hard look would give her the answers she sought. "I-I, we, well… I never had the chance to… we haven't been alone since…" Her words petered out and she gave him a look of concern tinged with a hint of deep affection.

Jack thought he understood what Carter was unsuccessfully trying to say. She hadn't spoken with him alone since his 'accident'. He knew she would have been worried about him. O'Neill would have felt the same way had their positions been reversed. They cared about each other deeply. No matter what, there was no denying that.

"I just wanted to say, while I've got the chance…" she continued. "Well, I-I'm… erm… glad you're okay. It was… a little scary for a while, you know?" Sam was beginning to wish she hadn't spoken up. She thought whatever she said or did now would be inadequate.

He leaned toward her then, eying her disconcertingly for a few moments, and smiled thinly. "Sure, Carter, I know." She smiled back, looking as awkward as she felt. "I'll be fine. I promise."

His expression was quite serious and one of those silent connections that had always defied explanation passed between them. He was okay, would be. Sam could see it in his eyes. Nodding briefly, she leaned back in her chair again, feeling a lot more relaxed about his state of health. However, she remained tense about the reasons he wanted to speak to her now.

"So, sir…" she started. "That word you wanted with me..." Sam felt the need to prompt him to get to the point. "It wasn't about Teal'c was it?" The question was mainly rhetorical.

Sinking back into his chair as well, Jack sighed. "It's Cassie."

Sam's eyes widened with dismay. "What's wrong?" she asked anxiously.

O'Neill threw up a hand as if to ward of her alarm. "She's fine b-but…" He paused, squirming uneasily, and then plunged on. "She seems to think you and me…" He wasn't sure how to complete the sentence. "She thinks we should…" Once again, words failed him. "You have to set her straight, Carter."

'Oh boy!' Sam thought. Although his words were not wholly illuminating, she thought she got it. Wishing she could sink into the floor rather than discuss the forbidden topic, she tried to appear impassive. 'What the heck has Cassie been saying?' she asked herself.

"She said something to you?" she asked out loud with her best impression of calm.

Thinking this much was self-evident, Jack bit back a sarcastic retort, slightly aggravated by her obvious question.

"She has some… um… weird notions. Apparently, Catherine and Pete are just substitutes until we get our acts together." O'Neill was no more comfortable about this line of conversation than Carter was. His fidgety manner radiated agitation.

"Oh!" Sam didn't quite know what to say or how to respond, her anxiety increasing by the minute.

"She was a bit off with Catherine."

"With Pete too. I should have guessed."

"She hasn't said anything to you?"

"Not for a while."

Jack's eyebrows shot up at the implication. It seemed Cassie had raised the topic before but no way was he going to ask about it. Some things are better left unsaid and O'Neill would not have been having this conversation at all if he had felt it was avoidable. He needed Cassie to stop having her ridiculous notions about his future, wanted her to accept Catherine was part of his life now.

"I'll talk to her," Sam said hastily, hoping her agreement to his idea that she set Cassie straight might end their exchange. Talking to Cassie about it was the last thing she wanted to do but she thought she had no choice.

"Fine." Abruptly, he stood up. "I guess we'd better get those drinks out there, huh?" he said, nodding toward the beers she'd put down earlier and moving toward the coffee table.

Sam was relieved, for once pleased by her CO's ability to shift a conversation rapidly away from the main point.

"Sure," she agreed with a small smile of gratitude. He grinned back, briefly nodding his head as if in understanding. Probably he did understand. Self-conscious moments for both of them.

Noticing him wince as he bent to pick up the beers, Carter hurriedly tried to take them from him but he waved her off dismissively, grunting a "no" under his breath. O'Neill glanced at her, his lips pursed into a stubborn line on his face, an expression of warning, and she backed away. Sam knew better than to argue the point.

"Time to play host," he said, stalking outside with the beers and that, as they say, was that.

Sam stayed inside for a short while, collecting her thoughts and her equilibrium. Then she joined him outside, preparing to tell Pete she had to return to the SGC. He so was not going to like that, she thought. Not one little bit.

She was right about Pete. Even worse, her insistence about returning to the SGC had raised the thorny issue of her fiance's jealousy. Annoyingly, as it happened, the direction their conversation took was entirely her fault.

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_A little later that day at O'Neill's barbeque:_

Set apart from the other guests, they argued in quiet tones. Pete didn't seem to understand why she considered Teal'c's welfare as more important than going home with her fiance. It irked her. She had thought Pete accepted those strong bonds and was growing closer to her friends. However, Sam detected the resentment in his body language and facial expressions more than in his words. He seemed to blame her CO for her actions.

"He didn't order me back to the mountain, Pete. This is my idea," she asserted.

"He doesn't have to order you to do anything, Sam, just hint at it. He's worried about Teal'c, can't do anything about it himself, ergo you take it on."

"Bullshit," she replied adamantly, although realized there could be some truth in that sometimes. Tonight, however, was not necessarily one of those times. She was worried about Teal'c in her own right and didn't need O'Neill to prompt her.

Frowning, she glared at him silently for a few moments in a peeved stance with her hands on hips. "You're not jealous of General O'Neill, are you?" she queried.

Pete appeared a little pensive and discomforted by the question, maybe because he was, but he managed to hold her gaze unwaveringly.

"What makes you think so?" he asked. He did feel a bit jealous of Sam's relationship with Jack O'Neill. Pete couldn't deny it. However, he'd been trying hard not to let Sam see it. So much for that. He'd lost the battle and Pete wondered what his tell was.

"I don't know, Pete. Just something…"

Not very illuminating, the cop thought but did not voice. Her wide-eyed stare into his eyes was getting to him. He had the feeling she was peering right inside his head and he didn't like it much.

Pete had watched them through the window earlier, talking - a private, seemingly intimate conversation in O'Neill's living room. It wasn't like he hadn't noticed before but this little chat highlighted the obvious and brought it to the forefront of his thoughts.

There was something off about them. Something special between them, perhaps. It bothered him yet he trusted both of them. He might not know O'Neill well but he was an honorable man. Pete was convinced about that. Sam was Sam and if he did not trust her absolutely he would never have asked her to marry him. So he didn't think there was anything going on between them. Not as such. Perhaps there could be if they let it and this was what made him feel slightly ill at ease.

Okay so they hadn't attempted to hide their duologue. If they'd wanted to there were other less obvious and more private places to talk. They were alone in the living room though and maybe they had been hiding in plain sight. How would he know? The trouble with being a cop was that being suspicious was second nature.

Their body language gave him pause for thought and the way they seemed to look at each other. Much like the way Sam was looking at him now. Like she could see into his very soul.

"Pete…" she persisted when his pause for thought lengthened.

"Maybe I am a little jealous," he admitted because he didn't think he had much choice. Like Sam didn't know already! "You look… cozy together." He shrugged helplessly, not feeling able to explain his thoughts effectively.

Sam laughed lightly and Pete smothered his exasperation at this reaction. Her hand moved up to his neck, stroking it softly, but he didn't react.

"Cozy? I wouldn't say we're that, although we have worked together for a lot of years. There's nothing going on if that's what you think." Her tone was calm and even with no hint of the irritation Pete expected at his confession.

"I don't, it's just… I don't know." He shrugged again, still floundering. "I was watching you talking earlier…" He broke off, gently removing her hand from his neck and lifting it to his lips for a small peck. Then he continued to hold it, squeezing lightly and keeping his eyes fixed on her the whole time.

When Pete said nothing further, Sam intervened. "Watching us talking? We looked way too cozy, huh?" She sighed heavily, not quite able to determine his thoughts despite that Pete might think she could.

Sam felt as uncomfortable about this as her fiance did. She didn't like that things between her and her CO might have appeared to be something they were not. The last thing she would have imagined was that the pair of them looked cozy during their little chat. Sam had felt far from anything that anyone could define as cozy and she knew from his posture that O'Neill had felt awkward too. A small moment had passed between them, sure. Perhaps a bit more than that and maybe this was what Pete had seen.

"If I promise you there's nothing…" she started, but Pete interrupted her.

"I don't think there is. I trust you, Sam."

She cocked her head slightly suspiciously. If he trusted her what was this conversation about? "And the general?" she asked.

"I don't think he'd ever… I mean, it's against the regs isn't it?"

She looked puzzled, remaining as unmoving as he currently was. "Then why the jealousy, Pete?"

"You seem… very close. Good friends."

Sam grinned because she couldn't help herself. "I hope we are. We've been through a lot together. All four of us have: SG-1. I would do anything for those guys. All three of them, Pete," she said pointedly. "You must get that. You're a cop. You build up that kind of relationship with your partners don't you? All that watching each other's backs stuff? It makes you close, doesn't it?"

He smiled sheepishly. "Yeah, sometimes. That's why I feel a bit foolish. I hoped you wouldn't notice. Sure, I get it Sam. You can grow pretty darned close when you get into life and death situations together and save each other's butts. It's unavoidable. But he's a man, you're a woman… there must have been times…"

"You haven't had women partners?" she asked, shooting him an irritated scowl. "And why O'Neill? What about Daniel or Teal'c? They're both men too, aren't they?"

"It doesn't look like there have been those kinds of times between you and either of them," he admitted freely. It was true. The O'Neill/Sam relationship was different. Daniel Jackson and Teal'c were obviously just friends, perhaps more like brothers. Jack O'Neill… a smidgeon of something deeper than that.

'Christ!' Sam swore to herself. 'Pete isn't really wrong is he?' she thought, keenly aware of the differences and feeling a slight flush in her cheeks as she considered it. Way too embarrassing, and revealing. Pete, of course, noticed. How could he fail to? Cops notice things. Fiances do too. The combination of both was difficult to say the least.

The cop's observation made him take a step back and drop her hand. "I see," he said.

Sam shook her head. "No you don't, Pete. Okay, so there have been times. You're right about that. But he's my CO. There's nothing. Just… moments sometimes, that's all. It's hard to put into words but it doesn't mean anything. Or not like you might think. Maybe you can't ever truly understand how much we all mean to each other. Our jobs, what we've been through, it's-it's…"

She tapered off not wanting to sound patronizing. Her tone was deliberately non-defensive. She did not wish it to appear there was anything to defend, but she didn't quite know how to convey what it was like for them. The work of an SG team was like no other. You couldn't truly compare it to being a cop and probably not to any other post in the armed forces either.

"Out of this world?" Pete retorted humorously and she smiled faintly. Then he said nothing for what seemed like the longest time, staring at her, and Sam wondered what was going through his head. "But it might have meant something? Once, maybe?" he probed eventually, picking up on her words.

'It was never that simple,' she thought. 'Still isn't.' Aloud, she said, "Maybe."

Although Pete didn't seriously suspect the friends of anything untoward, her response was troubling, thought provoking. Meanwhile, Sam was thinking he shouldn't ask questions unless he wanted to know the answers. Then again, neither should she.

"Now?" he probed uncertainly.

"Now I'm gonna marry you, Detective." She smiled. "You've got nothing to worry about."

He nodded his head briefly, not wishing to continue the conversation but wanting to give it more thought. Preferably, when Sam wasn't around to read his mind.

Pete got that he might never understand these relationships. Sam's job was so out there it was close to being incomprehensible. Her "maybe" response provoked more questions he wasn't sure he was ready to ask or wished to learn the answers to. Perhaps he was better off not knowing and accepting what he had. He couldn't decide.

His fiancee was a beautiful genius and way more than he would ever have imagined possible in a hundred lifetimes. Pete knew this relationship was too good to be true and he had no desire to jinx it. He'd been living the dream, seemingly accepting it until he'd given himself away. Petty jealousy was, well, petty. He should not allow such feelings to get in the way of that dream.

So what that Sam was close to these men. Okay, their friendships were closer than he found comfortable, especially with O'Neill apparently, but he would find a way to live with that. She was worth it.

Moving toward her again, he pulled her into a hug. "Okay," he said simply.

'Okay?' Sam thought. 'That's it?' She was not convinced but was wishing she hadn't said anything about jealousy. It was way better to leave that topic, and any feelings she may or may not have for her CO, well alone.

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_O'Neill's house after the barbeque: _

Having had sex for the first time in what seemed like a decade, O'Neill slept the contented slumber of satisfaction. Catherine had been as good as her word, making love to him, making all the moves so he didn't have to. It hadn't been easy. In fact, it had pained him more than he wanted to admit. But, man, it had been good. They say no gain, no pain, right? Right.

So when he woke to a slight reverberation of movement in his house - just a whisper, something a little bit off – Jack's physical condition was far from at its peak. With ears attuned to every sound, he carefully pulled back the covers, even more carefully trying to avoid waking Catherine while attempting to move without causing him too much pain.

He ached, but his senses were on high alert and O'Neill had had lots of practice at ignoring the pain when there were other pressing concerns on his radar. Right now, it seemed he might have a burglar in the house and that meant taking action so action is what he took.

Quickly pulling on a pair of boxers, he quietly unlocked and reached into his bedside drawer and removed the gun he secreted inside. O'Neill never left his weapon lying around where other people could get at it too easily. Not since Charlie. He hadn't left the gun anywhere that was straightforward to access back then either. His son had had to make an effort to find it. However, Jack hadn't kept it locked up either.

He didn't much like locking the weapon away because he couldn't get to it effortlessly, but he'd learned a hard lesson when Charlie had died. The hardest. Jack would rather be dead himself than be responsible for anyone else killing themselves with his gun. So he risked it, hoping he could get to the gun before any would be attacker got to him. O'Neill had other skills, many of which were just as lethal as a firearm.

Stealth mode was not an easy thing to achieve in the circumstances. Instead of moving like a crafty cat toward his prey, O'Neill's aching stiffness hampered his movement. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't have to get into any hand to hand. Jack wasn't entirely certain he was capable.

Thinking he heard the smallest of sounds from the kitchen, he decided to make his way straight there. A weird room to burgle, he thought. Not where he would have started. A light shone from down the hall, which made him even more curious. Not torchlight, his kitchen light. Weirder and weirder. What self-respecting burglar turns the lights on?

Aiming the gun in front of him ready to use it, he sprung around the corner, dumbfounded to find his uninvited guest sitting at the kitchen table holding a glass of water and looking like he lived there.

.

"Teal'c?" he queried in a surprised tone.

"O'Neill," Teal'c replied with an inclination of his head and the hint of a smile.

"Jeez, I could have shot you!" Breathing a sigh of relief, he lowered the gun.

"Unlikely," Teal'c replied, which was probably true. O'Neill was too experienced to shoot without thought.

"The party's over, big guy," Jack cracked acerbically.

"Please accept my apologies for tardiness," Teal'c replied with tongue firmly in cheek. Jack couldn't help but smile faintly with amusement.

"Where the hell have you been? Carter and Daniel are looking for you."

Teal'c arched an eyebrow. "I have been occupied."

"You might have mentioned it."

"I did not wish anyone to know."

"Right."

Jack knew his friend would tell him all about it in good time. Otherwise, why would he have snuck into his house in the middle of the night? So he moved into the room. Placing his gun on the table, he helped himself to a glass of water and sat opposite Teal'c to wait for whatever secret revelation merited this early morning visitation.

There was a chill in the air and O'Neill regretted not throwing on more clothes before leaving his bedroom. Sitting there in only his boxers was probably not such a good idea. Nevertheless, he didn't move to rectify the situation.

"You are cold, O'Neill?" Teal'c asked, noticing him shiver. The Jaffa removed his jacket and handed it across to O'Neill who put it on. It was too big, but much warmer.

"Thanks."

"I require you to come with me," Teal'c said abruptly and O'Neill regarded him with astonishment.

"Come with you? What, now? It's three o'clock in the morning for crying out loud. What you been up to Teal'c?"

"I have a surprise for you, O'Neill. A small gift."

"What, you couldn't have brought it here?"

Jack began to wonder if he was dreaming. The situation seemed slightly surreal, Teal'c going AWOL and then turning up in the middle of the night. What the hell was he talking about?

"That would have been most unwise," Teal'c replied.

"And, so… what?" O'Neill's florid gestures evoked both ire and bewilderment.

"Very well," replied Teal'c calmly, realizing his former team mate would do nothing without further explanation. "I have captured Peter Rodgers."

Jack's eyebrows shot up to the stratosphere. "You've done what?" he exclaimed in a stunned tone.

It was quite some bombshell to hit him with at three in the morning, shocking and mystifying. O'Neill pinched himself to make sure he was awake. Not that he genuinely believed pinching himself would make any difference. You can pinch yourself in a dream, right? Or was this a nightmare?

"I have captured Peter Rodgers," Teal'c repeated, taking O'Neill's question literally.

Jack stared at him in amazement wondering exactly how his friend had done this when the cops hadn't, and so soon after vanishing from the SGC. He was sure Teal'c was going to have quite a tale to tell and O'Neill was all ears.

TBC

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2009 Su Freund


	19. Jack Gets His Man

Title: Jack Gets His Man

Content Warnings: Mild language and references to sexual situations and violence

Pairings: Jack/other (Catherine), Sam/Pete

Season: 8

Spoilers: Anything up to and including Season 8

Chapter Summary: Peter Rodgers was afraid. Very alone and afraid.

Author's Note: Many thanks to Lynette (Flatkatsi) who beta read this chapter for me. Her corrections and comments always give me food for thought and make me strive to do better, which is a wonderful thing.

**Jack Gets His Man**

Peter Rodgers was afraid. Very alone and afraid.

The big menacing man had been gone for what seemed like a long time. This was kind of a relief because his abductor was a very scary, very muscular, very ominous type. Conversely, Rodgers didn't know whether to be more frightened of the man himself or that he'd left him on his own in this place with no idea what was going on.

For all he knew, his kidnapper might never return. He might rot and die in the dank cold. No food, no water, tied up with no hope of escape. Maybe this was the man's intention.

Rodgers had tried to get free but the bonds merely tightened further as he struggled with them. The man knew what he was doing when he tied him up.

Not only was he bound and gagged so he could barely move, his abductor had screwed his increasingly uncomfortable chair to the floor. Hence, he couldn't budge it, or himself.

He had no real notion of how long he'd been a prisoner in this small dark place. No windows, only one door and the man had locked that up tight when he'd left. The only furnishing was the chair the kidnapper had tied him to and a couple of others stacked in a corner close by. The walls were bare although he couldn't be sure of anything. It was dark in there. Rodgers didn't know where he was or what this place was. He was totally freaked.

It wasn't like he even had any real idea of why the man had taken him. Although he suspected it was something to do with O'Neill. Not because the bear of a man had told him so but because he had located him through Shaw. Who else but someone linked to O'Neill might know about Shaw and their connection with each other?

The bastard must have found Shaw and used the man to get to him. Christ, he'd hired idiots.

When Shaw had called threatening to tell all to the cops and trying to squeeze more money from him, Rodgers had felt there was little choice but to arrange a meeting. He'd already paid the man more than enough. He'd paid good lawyers to represent him once the cops had got him and arranged the vastly inflated bail money too. He was even going to pay the man to disappear.

He'd paid through the nose and for nothing, or so it seemed. O'Neill was okay and still had Catherine. Apparently, the cops had a witness, although Rodgers couldn't imagine who it was or what they had seen. Result, bad. They had picked up his hired thugs and Shaw knew who Rodgers was; could identify him, get to him. The venture was an unmitigated disaster already and now this. His whole life was starting to go to hell in a hand basket.

Rodgers figured the menacing man had threatened Shaw, forced him to call for the meeting. That's when the guy had grabbed him. To be honest, he couldn't really blame Shaw. The big man was quite terrifying.

This was all speculation, of course, and Rodgers' mind was running riot with scenarios and potential outcomes. His abductor had said nothing. He'd hardly even touched him. All Rodgers could remember was going to meet Shaw, the unexpected appearance of the big man and then a strange noise, bright light, pain and unconsciousness.

He'd woken up feeling like he'd suffered a gigantic electric shock, already gagged and bound up tight in the back of a car. Then the man had bundled him out of the vehicle and tied him to this chair. He hadn't seen their destination, had hardly been aware of getting there.

After that, his kidnapper had stared at him silently for what seemed like hours, pacing threateningly around his chair numerous times and looking like he might lay into him any moment. But he didn't. Instead, after what felt like an eternity of silent intimidation, he had left.

Rodgers would almost have preferred the man to have hit him. At least he'd have known where he stood, known what he was dealing with. The uncommunicativeness in itself was probably worse than any words or actions might have been - the sense of menace, the acute danger, the abject terror.

Yes, Peter Rodgers was afraid. Very alone and afraid.

* * *

O'Neill listened to Teal'c's story in disbelief, inserting comments as he related it and looking appropriately stunned. He'd had no idea Teal'c knew so much about computers and he was definitely going to have to check out security at the SGC. Sneaking zats or any other weaponry out of the mountain was a big no-no.

It wasn't that he was ungrateful for the thought behind Teal'c's actions. Threatening members of the public to extract information about personal issues, however, was not something to be encouraged. If it was SGC/alien related, sure. Almost anything goes, or at least that was O'Neill's opinion even if the IOC might disagree. His attack, though, was totally unrelated to their work. What Teal'c had done simply wasn't right.

On the other hand, he did not have many issues about the outcome. Rodgers' capture was a good thing even if the methods left something to be desired. He had to admit he had a sneaking admiration for Teal'c's actions. And he was pleased at what the thoughts behind those actions meant in terms of their friendship.

He was a little bit flattered that Teal'c thought highly enough of him to go all Jaffa revenge like for him. O'Neill had always admired and trusted the big guy but at times had been less certain as to whether Teal'c felt the same way about him. After all, to the very much older Jaffa following the lead of a young stripling like him, and a Tauri, must have been difficult sometimes. Probably often. He followed, usually without demur, but there had been times when O'Neill had sensed Teal'c's doubt around his choices. There had even been times when the old warrior had simply rebelled and done his own thing.

O'Neill liked to think of Teal'c as a friend, not just a colleague who had been one of his team members. He figured this kind of proved the point once and for all.

"Did anyone see the zat?" he asked even before he started probing his friend about the welfare of Rodgers or Shaw. The security of his command took precedence over everything. He couldn't countenance a breach and waving a zat around in public was definitely one of those.

"I do not believe so."

"You get why I'm asking, right?"

"I too am aware that SGC security is paramount, O'Neill," Teal'c replied feeling slightly put out that his friend might believe he would think otherwise.

"Yet you borrowed a zat?" Jack retorted, gesturing quotes around the word borrowed. "For Christ's sake, Teal'c…!"

His ex-team mate regarded him coolly. "I hid it well, O'Neill. Shaw was unconscious when I fired the weapon. I do not believe Rodgers saw it before I made use of it. I was careful."

Recognizing Teal'c was offended, Jack became conciliatory. "It's not that I'm ungrateful, T. I am, I swear! You got Rodgers. You did good…"

"I understand," Teal'c said, interrupting.

Jack wondered if he really did but let it lie. SGC security was going to get an obviously well needed overhaul. Perhaps he should be thankful his friend had pointed him in the direction of a potential issue. He'd take Teal'c at his word that no one had seen the zat. Besides, would people believe such a thing was an alien weapon? A space gun - yeahsureyabetchya!e'd take They'd more likely think it was some kind of Taser. O'Neill realized he was probably worrying over nothing.

"You say Shaw was unconscious? Not zatted then, eh?" Teal'c shook his head. "So what did you do with him?" O'Neill asked swiftly moving away from one thorny subject to another.

Teal'c smirked in an animalistic manner. "He is of no consequence."

O'Neill hitched a breath apprehensively, the notion of Teal'c leaving a trail of bodies scattered around the Springs popping into mind. "He is still alive, isn't he?"

Teal'c nodded. "Indeed," he replied.

"Teal'c, for cryin' out loud…" O'Neill exclaimed irritably.

"Do not concern yourself, O'Neill. He is well. Uncomfortable, perhaps, but unharmed."

Jack thought maybe the guy was lucky but couldn't be sure. "And… so…?" he pressed.

"I forced him to remove his clothing."

Jack's eyebrows shot skyward. "You mean you dumped him buck naked somewhere in the city?"

"Outside of the city."

Chuckling with both amusement and relief, Jack pictured the man having a long, cold and embarrassing walk to contend with.

"Did you hurt him?"

"Only his feelings, O'Neill. As I said, he is of no consequence. He is merely a hireling."

"So Rodgers was your main goal." Teal'c inclined his head in agreement. "What about him?"

"If by that you are asking if I harmed him the answer is I did not. That, I believe, is your prerogative O'Neill."

Jack stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Right."

He wasn't sure what to make of all this. A few weeks beforehand, he had set out to find Rodgers and warn him off. Perhaps he had even intended to hurt him a little. Probably. He'd been blinded by anger about his treatment of Catherine. Now, despite what Rodgers had done to both of them, his ire had diminished. Sure, he wasn't happy about Catherine's beating, or that Rodgers had left him for dead, but the Jaffa revenge like thing was not necessarily O'Neill's style. He had his moments, but…

He wanted the guy out of their lives, for Catherine to have some peace of mind. Good old American justice might do very well indeed to serve that purpose. He figured Catherine herself would be happier that way. She probably would not be pleased if he took the law into his own hands, however satisfying it might be. Catherine had been mad with him about tearing off after her ex in the first place.

On the other hand, justice is not always served in a court of law, particularly when the defendant has large pots of money to play with. It shouldn't be that way but it sometimes seemed to be. Rodgers was manipulative and could appear charming, or so Catherine assured him. O'Neill didn't see it but why would he? Who knew what a jury would think or decide? There was always an outside chance Rodgers would get off. Although he thought Pete Shanahan might have a good body of evidence against him, O'Neill couldn't be certain.

The internal debate gave him a headache and Jack massaged his temples hoping to ward it off. He so hated having a conscience. Sometimes it simply got in the way. He'd been trained to kill and his work in special ops had included some dubious missions. He'd killed a lot of enemy combatants in his time. Torture or murder, however, were different; not his usual way. Rodgers was an ordinary citizen, not an enemy combatant or a terrorist, however warped and nasty the man might be.

"Okay, I guess I need to come with you then, right?" he declared eventually.

"As I said," agreed Teal'c.

Asking Teal'c to wait, he quietly returned to the bedroom to throw on some clothes. He didn't wish to disturb Catherine but she woke up anyway.

"What you doing?" she asked sleepily, stretching her limbs and eyeing him through droopy lids. Fully dressed now, O'Neill sat on the edge of the bed and bent to kiss her forehead.

"It's okay. Go back to sleep. I'm going out for a while," he whispered.

"Going out? What time is it?"

"Too early to be getting up. Sleep baby."

He moved to get up and she grabbed his arm. "What's going on Jack?"

"Everything's fine I promise. Teal'c's here. He needs me for something."

"I guess if I ask what he needs you for at such a ridiculous time in the morning you aren't telling, right?" she said perceptively.

"If I were you, I wouldn't ask. Don't worry, baby. I'm betting I'll be lying there right next to you when you wake up later."

She stared up at him silently for a few moments wondering whether she should press the point but decided against it. Jack had secrets. She knew that and had to learn to accept it. Nevertheless, Catherine was concerned. He should be convalescing not gadding around town doing heaven knows what. It was all right for him to suggest she go back to sleep but she wasn't sure she would be able to until he was safely back home again.

Sighing she said, "Okay, Jack, I won't ask. This doesn't mean I'm happy about you going off somewhere in the middle of the night when you should be resting, by the way."

"So sue me," he replied slightly tartly, immediately regretting the sharp retort. Instead of apologizing, he leaned over her again - at the cost of a shooting pain in his gut that he carefully avoided showing on his face. Then he kissed her briefly on the lips. An apology of sorts and Catherine accepted it as such. "Teal'c will take good care of me. That's guaranteed," he said reassuringly. "Back soon."

Catherine watched him exit the room, heard the two men leave the house and then got up. She couldn't help but fret even more when she noticed the dresser drawer was open, no gun in sight. Swearing to herself, she padded along to the kitchen to make some coffee. If she was going to be wide awake and worrying for who knew how long, she might as well do it properly, she thought.

Then she decided to occupy herself by clearing up the mess left by his barbeque. It was one thing less for Jack to think about when he got home and the act of doing it would calm her edgy nerves. Setting about her chosen task, she prepared herself for a potentially long and anxious wait.

* * *

The two friends remained silent while Teal'c drove. O'Neill was preoccupied with pondering what he was going to do now he'd got his man. Besides, the pair was all talked out for now.

One of the reasons Jack enjoyed Teal'c's company was the very lack of talking. No expectations of long cozy chats, jovial banter or secret revelations. Simple companionable silence. Bliss. Teal'c's earlier story had probably contained more words than the general had ever heard from his lips in such a short space of time before.

He was still reeling. Just as he was beginning to believe he'd got a grip on the whole inscrutable Teal'cness thing he always seemed to discover something else about the guy. Daniel was right about their friend having hidden depths and evidently he hadn't plumbed them all yet. O'Neill kind of liked that about Teal'c. His friend was an enigma within a riddle.

His story went something like this. He'd been keeping a watchful eye on Shaw's for a while, mostly online of all places, figuring he was a possible key to finding Rodgers. Who'd have thought Teal'c knew more than he did about computers? Or so it seemed.

Actually, O'Neill knew a lot more about all that kind of stuff than he let on too but he wasn't telling anyone. Jack liked to pretend he was a lot dumber than he really was. It came in handy sometimes. Apparently, Teal'c had hidden his talents as well. Something else they had in common.

When Teal'c learned Shaw made bail, he snuck a zat out of the SGC and hung around the man's neighborhood until he spotted him. It was easy after that. Teal'c's great line in menacing impersonations gave him an edge even over a man like Shaw, who prided himself on being hired muscle. Jack figured those kinds of men were probably cowards at heart, not something that could be said for his good friend Teal'c.

So, to save his own butt, Shaw ratted Rodgers out. It wasn't like he had any real loyalty to the man who had hired him, after all. Shaw called Rodgers, persuaded him to meet up and Teal'c zatted Rodgers. Simple almost beyond belief.

Now Teal'c had O'Neill's adversary locked up tight. Apparently, he had prepared for this eventually in advance and rented a little place to stash the man in. This was where they were going now.

As they drove, Jack's curiosity increased. They'd moved to an area on the outskirts of the city that wasn't exactly known for its residential properties but was mostly filled with industrial units. Had Teal'c rented one of those, he wondered, but didn't ask. O'Neill wasn't in the mood for talk and he'd find out soon enough.

Shortly, Teal'c pulled the car over outside a large locked gate and got out, indicating O'Neill should stay put. Striding to the gate, he removed a key from his pocket, detached the padlock and pushed it open. Then he got back into the car and drove into the yard.

Jack looked at the sign on the property's sturdy fence. "A storage depot?" he queried but Teal'c said nothing.

Getting out of the car again, this time he indicated O'Neill should follow, locking the gate behind them as they moved inside.

* * *

Peter Rodgers was getting cold. Cold and pissed. His emotional state had been vacillating between furious and terrified for a while now. He had been mentally ranting at O'Neill too. Blaming him for everything that had gone wrong in his life even before Rodgers had known of the man's existence. If it was bad for Rodgers, it was O'Neill's fault. Convoluted logic perhaps but Rodgers did not see it that way.

He'd kill O'Neill. He swore he would. With his own bare hands after he made the man suffer a variety of increasingly painful and soul destroying torments. Rodgers had a vividly violent imagination.

In fact, thinking about it gave him a hard on and was way more thought provoking than his own dilemma. He'd get out of this. Of course he would because he'd always managed to get out of anything before hadn't he?

He pictured capturing O'Neill and gradually torturing him to death - very slowly and excruciatingly. Rodgers wished to witness the man thrashing and screaming in agony for an extremely long time before giving him the comfort of release. In fact, he figured he could keep it going for months and imagined every nuance of every unbearably torturous thing he would do to his enemy.

Rodgers would derive great pleasure from each agonized squeal; watch O'Neill convulse in paroxysms of pain; make the man repeatedly beg for mercy. He would so like that. He could keep himself gratified for months by hurting the guy in skillfully horrendous ways.

He thought about the equipment he could buy to do the deed. Leg and arm irons; hooks and chains; whips. He was fairly certain one could get things like medieval racks and the like quite easily online. The Spanish Inquisition would have nothing on him. Then there was the more modern day stuff like electric currents to contemplate. He'd teach a thing or two to professional torturers the world over.

The possibilities were endless and his furtive creativity when it came to considering inflicting pain was bottomless. Rodgers was positively salivating.

Normally, he was quite hands on and picked on people who couldn't defend themselves that easily. With women, he liked the feel of fist crunching into flesh, feet thudding into soft tissue and bone. His most recent encounter with the hooker had been one of his more violent and gratifying forays into progressively sicker madness.

When it came to O'Neill, he could visualize way worse than anything he had ever actually inflicted with his fists on anyone. Thus, he would make an exception by investing in some good old fashioned torture aids. Notions of potential hands on activity nevertheless gave him a wet dream to die for.

Scared witless he might have been but Rodgers distracted himself very well with these imaginings. He kept going at O'Neill with everything he'd got, leaving him on the brink, bringing him back for more. The man simply wouldn't die - very rewarding.

He was picturing a small very sharp knife, paring O'Neill's skin off piece by piece. Flaying alive, wasn't that what they called it? His victim was screeching, the wail of a man in the direst of anguish. He couldn't take anymore, was pleading for his tormentor to stop. He'd do anything, anything… become Rodgers' willing vassal. The idea made Rodgers shiver excitedly and then he heard the key in the lock and the door opened.

Looking up, he was almost happy to see the man he now considered his arch enemy entering the door. O'Neill. The big man followed and closed the door behind him. Man, he'd love to be free and get at both of these guys. Mainly O'Neill but hurting the other man might prove diverting too.

His foe's appearance certainly proved some of his guess work had been correct, but it also filled him with fear. The terror came back to him in a rush, the contentment derived from his daydreaming quickly evaporating.

O'Neill stared at him wordlessly for a while, arms folded across his chest, an emotionless expression on his face. The man's detachment was frightening and far from what Rodgers had anticipated. However, he thought he detected something in his rival's eyes. Something even more alarming. The look of a coldblooded killer.

He wanted to run from that look but could not. Even if he could have moved, his eyes were fixed onto O'Neill's as if riveted to the spot. His enemy demanded attention. He was that kind of man. For the first time Rodgers realized he had probably made a colossal mistake in trying to take on O'Neill. He was dangerous, probably lethal. Way more deadly than Rodgers himself was.

Rodgers could not imagine why he had not realized this before. He should have seen it during their encounter in New York. O'Neill had terrified him then he recalled, thinking about their confrontation in the men's room.

_"Okay, I'm only saying this once, so listen up," Jack said, tightening his grip. The expression on his face was a study of thunderous pure menace. "You don't want me as an enemy. I can maim and kill in more ways than the fevered imagination of your worst nightmare, and never leave a trace that it was me. No one would ever know._

_"If I hear you've even looked at Catherine the wrong way, I will hurt you so bad you won't be spitting teeth, you'll be shitting them. If you harm her in any way, you'll be in hospital for a month and singing soprano." He loosed his arm from around Rodger's throat, grasping his testicles and squeezing them hard. Rodgers squealed. "Is that clear?" _

_Not having picked up on the danger earlier that evening, Rodgers realized this man was totally terrifying. He could barely open his mouth to speak._

_O'Neill squeezed his testicles again, even harder this time, and the man screeched. "I asked you a question. Is that clear?"_

_"Crystal," Rodgers replied with a croak. _

_When O'Neill let him go, Rodgers swung for him defiantly, but his adversary was too quick. Ducking the move, Jack punched him forcefully in the solar plexus, leaving him gasping and eyes watering. _

_"Seems you weren't really listening. You listening now, Rodgers?"_

_"I heard you. Loud and clear."_

_"Good, because I don't like wife-beaters. Men who bully and beat women are nothing but cowards, and their stench sickens me. I don't want to get this close to you again if I can avoid it. Avoiding it is entirely in your hands." _

He should have listened but he'd got mad and jealous instead, seeking revenge and to rid himself of his rival. If that had worked, this wouldn't be happening, thought Rodgers, but he had failed to achieve his objective. Too late, he realized a man couldn't afford to fail when pitted against a person like O'Neill.

Although he might have appeared unaffected on the outside, beneath his frosty exterior O'Neill burned as fiercely as the coals on his earlier barbeque. He'd got his man, the person responsible for dishing out years of misery to Catherine and the architect of her more recent distress. His instinct was to do the guy some serious harm.

Rodgers had tried to kill him, or at the very least severely hurt him. Jack wasn't certain he should let the man get away with that. He got where Teal'c was coming from with his notion of revenge, he really did. Catherine's ex sickened him to the pit of his stomach and made his skin crawl. He could easily persuade himself that the man's actions merited retribution of a highly disagreeable kind - just as he had threatened in New York.

Equally, O'Neill had many doubts about damaging his captive. For starters, Rodgers was pathetic and, he suspected, more than a little bit nuts. He probably needed a psychiatrist, a straightjacket and a padded cell rather than a beating.

Then there was the justice thing he'd been contemplating earlier. Jack wasn't certain that, as a rule, he was a big fan of vigilante justice. Okay, so he had reacted to Catherine's plight by trying to seek out her attacker. However, he wasn't sure how far he had been willing to go back then. He guessed he would never know now.

He realized, however, that it hadn't really been the right thing to do. No man should take justice into their own hands and two wrongs do not make a right. A couple of cliches but there was no avoiding the truth of them. He'd had a long time to think about it in a hospital bed.

By responding to Rodgers in kind, he was playing the man's own game. Not only was he sinking to the same lower than low level but it gave the guy way more credit than he deserved. It would probably play right into his exceedingly perverted hands.

Right now, O'Neill wasn't sure what to do. It was irksome.

Rodgers wasn't certain how to play the situation either. Fear paralyzed him. When his rival walked over and quickly removed his gag, however, he decided that showing his fear might not a wise move. Not realizing how much of his terror he had already displayed for his captors to see, he figured defiance might be the better tactic. He'd play it by ear and change his game plan to whatever he thought might work on his enemy once he'd assessed his full measure. He was good at that - manipulation. If you could take an exam in it, he would achieve a triple A score.

"I guessed this was your doing, O'Neill," he snarled.

'Actually, this wasn't my idea,' Jack thought but he didn't voice it, instead eyeing Rodgers with a calm callousness.

His captive considered the expression something akin to how a butcher might regard a large slab of meat before hacking it into smaller pieces with a big cleaver. He blanched and tried to gulp back his nausea.

"Now you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" he asked, his tone less insolent now. He thought he appeared bold but in fact sounded weak and apprehensive. Jack's qualms deepened and his silence lengthened. Teal'c said nothing either, waiting for a cue from O'Neill.

"I could scream this place down," Rodgers said and the corners of O'Neill's mouth turned upward into a grimacing smile.

'Knock yourself out,' Jack thought with wry amusement, contemplating the almost total isolation of the spot his friend had picked to hold Rodgers captive. However, he remained silent.

Moving toward Rodgers, he noticed the man flinch visibly and attempt to pull away, which of course he could not. Although O'Neill grinned inside about his obvious alarm, the earlier scowling smile had disappeared, replaced by a venomous looking expression that exacerbated Rodgers' dread.

Unexpectedly, his foe did not lift a finger to hurt Rodgers but walked around him silently, testing the knots of his bonds. Returning to his previous position, he nodded an acknowledgement of a job well done at his accomplice and simply viewed his prisoner with startlingly eerie stillness again.

Every nerve in Rodgers' body tensed up as if awaiting its fate. He was almost too terrified to look into O'Neill's eyes and when he plucked up that courage, he regretted it almost immediately. He anticipated hatred, any kind of emotion, but he found nothing - nothing to give him any clue. It was more ominous than any amount of emotion might have been. The frigidness in that gaze made Rodgers shudder.

"Aren't you going to gloat, O'Neill?" he queried, starting to get increasingly desperate to discern his enemy's intentions. He hated that anyone should disregard him like this. He was important, a somebody. After what he had done, he deserved more.

Jack, however, believed he had got the measure of his man. He seethed inside, wanting to break his neck for what he had done to Catherine, but he controlled those impulses, appearing impassive. He knew this tactic was getting to Rodgers. He could see the man sweating with fear and his trepidation was growing by the minute. The longer he spent doing nothing, the more frightened Rodgers was going to get. Scaring him half to death appealed to O'Neill.

"I enjoyed my little diversion with Catherine," Rodgers sneered, wanting to provoke a reaction. "It was a real pleasure, a bit of a turn on actually, but I wanted you."

O'Neill bit back anger at the comment. He wanted to hit the guy who took delight in hurting Catherine, but he didn't. Instead, his composure remained steely and detached. If Rodgers thought he was going to goad him into action, he was sorely mistaken.

He realized his assessment of the man was right. If they hurt him, it would fulfill his expectations, play into his hands. It was what he wanted and would bolster Rodgers' sick ego. Revenge was something the man understood. Justice, however, was not. He got violence too, but he didn't comprehend the power of self-controlled, silent intimidation.

It was a neat trick. Teal'c had it down to a fine art and O'Neill believed his prisoner to be a perfect candidate for the technique. The last thing he expected.

When his provocative words didn't work, Rodgers said, "I should have made sure you were dead."

'Yes, you should,' thought O'Neill, knowing he could make a bad enemy, but maybe not today. Today he would probably make a good enemy instead, although he didn't think the man sitting in front of him would agree. Taking the moral high ground sprang to mind. That would really piss Rodgers off. The thought made him feel satisfyingly smug.

Jack knew Catherine's ex longed for him to fall into a trap. If he cracked and did what his instinct drove him to do, he would be as bad as Rodgers himself, if not worse. Worse because he knew better. He was a sane man and, in his wholly layman's opinion, Rodgers was not. He wanted O'Neill to stoop to his level. Perversely, it would gratify him. Jack did not wish to give the man what he wanted.

Rodgers had got the upper hand before and now it was his turn. Jack wanted to take advantage of it but knew there was more than one way to skin a cat. He wondered what his prisoner would think if he knew even half of what he was thinking. Relieved? Self satisfied? Fortunately, O'Neill didn't believe that, if his prisoner had any qualities at all, mindreading was one of them.

"If you'd left me alone in New York we might not be here now," said Rodgers.

'So it's my fault you're a nasty slime ball with a crazy streak, huh?' Jack asked himself. Tired, he grabbed one the spare chairs and sat down, regarding Rodgers with a feral smirk. Teal'c remained standing and both men stayed as equally mute as they had since they'd entered. It was driving Rodgers nuts.

"Do your worst, O'Neill. Get it over with," Rodgers urged and it was on the tip of Jack's tongue to retort "I think not" but he didn't. Instead he laughed, although Catherine's ex detected no mirth in the man's eyes.

Rodgers was stunned. The silent treatment and then this, he thought. It was too much. His adversary's laughter unnerved him. He tried not to show it but without success. When he wet his pants with fear, it was a clincher. He felt totally humiliated and surmised from O'Neill's cold smile that he was getting a great deal of pleasure from his degradation.

He was right about O'Neill. Jack was thinking his approach was probably better than beating up on the guy. He was kind of enjoying himself.

* * *

_The SGC:_

"The cupboard is bare," Dixon told Sam. "Mister nosy neighbor told us Shaw left a few hours back with a large African American guy."

"Doesn't mean it was Teal'c I suppose."

"This was a large man wearing a hat who bowed his head politely at the nosy neighbor when they passed in the entrance to the apartment block. Sure sounds like Teal'c."

"Damn. So a dead end for now, huh?"

"We've got nothing. Found anything at your end?"

"Not much of anything useful. Only one thing that sticks out. It seems Teal'c rented a storage unit a few weeks ago. Paid online." She was still marveling at the activities Teal'c got up to on the laptop in his spare time.

"A storage unit? That's all you've found? Weird. Teal'c hasn't got anything to put into storage, has he?"

"Exactly."

"We're on it. Dixon out."

Carter stared at the dead phone for a while wishing she was out there with them. If it was a useful lead then at least she wouldn't have wasted her time. If not, she'd be pissed. What Teal'c was doing renting a storage locker she could not imagine, nor could she figure what it had to do with her team mate's hunt for Rodgers. However, almost anything out of the ordinary was a clue and almost any clue was a good clue. Or at least Carter certainly hoped so.

* * *

"For Christ's sakes talk to me!" Rodgers exclaimed with frustration but, despite many such similar pleas and protestations, O'Neill's taciturn, implacable manner persisted for quite some time.

His prisoner rapidly unraveled, visibly falling apart and speaking almost incessantly - trying to provoke, trying to plead, trying to find some way into O'Neill. Jack was unassailable. He was also quickly becoming bored with the charade.

Rodgers jumped with surprise when, after what seemed like a long period of ominously calm and mute composure, O'Neill abruptly stood up. When he approached, the man cringed. Once again, though, his antagonist did nothing to hurt him. Instead, he placed the gag back on his mouth and whispered in his ear.

"You aren't worth the trouble," he said, the only words that came from his kidnappers' lips the whole time they were there.

Then O'Neill coolly replaced his chair where he had found it and, with a slight movement of head and hand, indicated to his accomplice that they were leaving.

When O'Neill turned back from the doorway to face him, his wintery expression chilled Rodgers to the bone. He was panicking at the notion of the two men abandoning him again. The idea of not knowing what would happen, whether they would ever return, was way more daunting than the thought of suffering physical damage. Hurting people he understood but this was beyond comprehension.

Taking pleasure from the horrified expression in his opponent's eyes, Jack winked cheekily at the man, immediately turning on his heel and exiting. Leaving the guy to rot for a while longer would be far better than anything else he could do by way of punishment, he realized, or at least for now. The thought gave him a supreme sense of contentment, overriding his instinct to knock the guy's lights out.

Although puzzled by the turn of events, Teal'c followed O'Neill's lead without objection. He didn't speak until they locked the storage unit door behind them.

"I do not understand, O'Neill," he said. "I believed you would wish to injure Rodgers. After which you could use the zat'nik'tel to kill him and make him disappear from your life forever."

"You think I should rough him up a little? What's the point?"

"A deep sense of pleasure."

O'Neill grinned with amusement but then shook his head. "I can't, T. Sure it would be satisfying on many levels, but I can't. It's just not the right thing to do. I can't exactly say that makes me happy but, well…" He shrugged, not sure what else to say and Teal'c looked thoughtful and perturbed.

"Why give him the satisfaction of getting what he wants?" Jack continued after a long pause, knowing Teal'c didn't get it. His friend regarded him with a curious expression. "He might not want to die but he sure is trying to maneuver me into hurting him. It's what he wants." Teal'c's perplexity seemed to increase. "Don't ask me about the psychology of it, Teal'c, I just know that if we hurt him it will somehow feed his overly inflated ego. Give him too much recognition. So we do the opposite, right? The last thing he wants is to be ignored."

"So it appeared."

"Believe me; he'll feel like a big fat zero. His ego won't handle it."

Teal'c nodded thoughtfully. "Your tactic was no doubt sound," he said, "but now… the zat'nik'tel…" He still believed getting rid of the man altogether was the best thing to do.

Disagreeing, O'Neill shook his head. "No. If I zat him out of existence, how will Catherine ever see justice done?" he countered. "She'd be looking over her shoulder waiting for him to appear for the rest of her life."

Jack had also been ruminating about someone tracing Rodgers' disappearance back to Teal'c, or putting two and two together and coming up with the name Jack O'Neill. Probably both. The cops were looking for the guy, after all, and weren't stupid - especially one particular cop by the name of Pete Shanahan who happened to be closely involved with the case.

Shanahan knew both of them and probably understood at least some of what they were capable of too. It wouldn't take long for a sharp guy like him to put it all together. If someone had seen Teal'c hanging around Shaw's neighborhood, for example, the cop would undoubtedly find out eventually. Teal'c was a hard guy to miss.

Yet Jack figured Shaw was unlikely to go to the police willingly about what had happened. Way too embarrassing. If the cops picked him up running around naked, on the other hand, who knew what might happen? The idea had amused O'Neill earlier but now he'd had time to do a lot of thinking he wasn't sure any of this had been one of his friend's better ideas.

A whole heap of trouble could come pouring down on O'Neill and the Air Force. The kind of trouble Jack might find it hard to wriggle out of. He wouldn't necessarily be able to protect Teal'c either and he certainly had no desire to bring the Air Force into disrepute. The President and the Pentagon would be highly unhappy campers.

The situation was bad enough already but could skid way out of control and come crashing down on both of them. What Teal'c had done was totally illegal and Jack himself was aiding and abetting a crime.

O'Neill happened to know citizen's arrest was permissible in the State of Colorado. Fine and he might get away with claiming that if he called the cops now and lied a lot. One problem - citizen's arrest was supposedly okay only if you witness the criminal actually committing the crime you arrest them for. Jack also doubted the cops would look very kindly on the citizen in question tying the perp to a chair in a lock-up for a few hours. Use of undue restraint or force would probably be an issue.

The law could class Teal'c's actions as kidnapping, a Federal offence. If they harmed Rodgers, it would aggravate the situation. They would be guilty of one or many unlawful acts of violence and he would be a victim of crime, as if he wasn't one already. Making Rodgers a victim and therefore deserving of some kind of sympathy was not an appealing prospect.

If they killed and disposed of him, well, Jack wasn't sure he could live with the cold blooded murder option. Nor did it necessarily solve their problems, although it might make it more difficult to make any kind of case against them stick.

Now he thought about it O'Neill wondered if this might be one reason for their prisoner trying to spur him into action. Goad him into committing a number of criminal acts and bring a mountain of shit down upon his head. The man was devious, Jack had to give him that, and who knew what was going through that crazy old brain of his?

Trying to figure out the best way forward was giving Jack waking nightmares. Sure, he'd enjoyed the increasing terrified look on Rodger's face, the fact that he had debased himself and peed in his pants with fear. Nevertheless, he wasn't certain it was worth the possible implications of their actions. He had to come up with a plan that would minimize the impact but he hadn't yet. Therefore, he had little choice but to keep Rodgers on ice until he did.

O'Neill said nothing of this to Teal'c. His friend might see it as an additional reason to dispose of their prisoner and, in some ways, perhaps it was. What kind of stink was it going to cause when Rodgers told the cops General Jack O'Neill had held him captive?

He didn't want to give Teal'c more ammunition to fire at him about their prisoner. Nor did he wish to go into all the legal ramifications and worst case possibilities with his friend. Not until he'd concocted a way out.

He could hang Teal'c out to dry to save his own ass, of course, but no way in hell was that ever going to happen. O'Neill would rather put his own butt on the line to protect Teal'c and suffer the consequences.

It seemed his friend had not really thought this whole thing through. He probably wouldn't see it the Tauri way. Jack's brain, however, was working overtime thinking about actions and outcomes. It was a particular area of expertise when it came to O'Neill's furtive mind. Worst case scenarios. Hung if you do, hung if you don't, he thought.

"You could not inform her of your actions?" Teal'c asked referring to Catherine's desire for Tauri justice. Jack shot him an odd look.

"What do you think?" he replied with a hint of sarcasm. "No, I figure we leave him to stew for a while and then turn him in to Pete Shanahan." Even as he said it, O'Neill knew he still had some thinking to do around his plan before he could act on it.

Teal'c arched his eyebrows with surprise. "It would satisfy your honor to give him to the police? You have killed many times, O'Neill. I do not comprehend your reluctance in this matter."

Jack sighed, wondering if Teal'c would ever truly understand. His culture was so totally different and his many years living on Earth could not change some of the fundamentals.

"Sure I've killed people, T. It's part of my job. But it's not my job to take lives, it's to save 'em. In our line of work, the two aren't mutually exclusive. Kill the bad guys so you can save the good ones. This…" He waved a hand around at their surroundings. "This is entirely different. This would be murder. And if I beat up on him, I'd be as bad as he is. He feeds on that. It would give him too much satisfaction, don't you see? What can I tell ya? The man's a nut job."

Teal'c mulled this over silently for a few moments. "You Tauri are strange indeed," he ventured in the end, "but I believe I begin to understand."

"I'm sorry if I don't live up to your expectations, T," O'Neill replied with a small smile. "Revenge is your thing, not mine."

"You believe in justice but our notions of it differ somewhat my friend."

"Quite."

"You must do as you see fit, O'Neill. It is not my decision to make. He wronged you, not I."

Jack's smile broadened and he patted Teal'c on the back. "I'm glad you caught him. Thanks."

Teal'c bowed his head and smiled back. "You are welcome, O'Neill. How long do you wish to leave him alone with his terror?" Teal'c's expression was morphing into smug satisfaction and O'Neill smirked.

"Not sure."

Jack wanted to weigh up his options a bit more. He was about to suggest they go to his place and return later when the locked front gate burst open. Instinctively, he drew his sidearm and Teal'c cocked his zat ready for action. Then, as the intruders entered the yard, he recognized their outlines: Daniel Jackson, Dave Dixon and Lou Ferretti.

"Shit!" he swore. "I guess I should have told 'em you weren't missing anymore, Teal'c."

"Indeed."

Surprised that their colleagues were crashing their party, O'Neill and Teal'c exchanged mildly amused looks and stepped forward to greet the new arrivals. Jack had a whole lot of explaining to do.

* * *

"Sam, we've found him," Dixon informed Carter. "That storage lead you gave us led us right to him."

Carter grinned, idiotically pleased with herself but also curious. "Great. He's okay?"

"Sure. Jack's with him."

Doing a double take, she stared at the phone in surprise as if she might have misheard. "Come again?"

"General O'Neill is here with him."

"What the heck…?"

Dixon shrugged as if she could see him. "Don't ask me. Jack gave us some bull about Teal'c wanting to show him something he'd put into storage. Not exactly plausible but I don't think he gave a damn about that. We couldn't get anymore out of him but they're up to something."

"Really?" Sam retorted in a tone heaving with sarcasm. She wasn't sure what to do or say. Had this night been a monumental waste of time? It pissed her off because she doubted her CO would even bother to acknowledge their efforts. Knowing him, he wouldn't refer to the incident again unless pushed, but she figured she wasn't the one to do the pushing. She could probably reply on Daniel for that.

"So what now?" she asked with a frustrated sigh.

"Go home, sleep, what else? Mission complete, Sam."

"Am I the only one feeling a little bit pissed off about this? He could have let us know Teal'c was okay. We could have packed up and gone home already, saved ourselves a lot of aggravation."

"I know. He actually seemed a little bit contrite about that. About as contrite as Jack ever gets about anything. You know what he can be like."

She scowled. "Only too well."

"You're not the only one feeling pissed, Sam, believe you me. But what can we do? It's O'Neill."

"Do-do you think they might have got to Rodgers and have him stashed away at that place?" she asked, having had a while to ponder the possible reasoning behind Teal'c's seemingly peculiar rental.

"It wouldn't surprise me but I think I'm better off not asking too many questions. Jack happens to be the boss, so I figure we just let it alone."

"Dave…" she started, sounding fretful, but he interrupted.

"Sam, the mission was to find Teal'c. We found him, case closed. Forget it and go get some sleep. That's what we're gonna do."

Glancing at her watch, she thought it hardly seemed worth going to bed. "Okay," she agreed.

There wasn't much point in discussing it with Dixon any further. The only people who could answer her questions were the general and Teal'c. Carter figured hell would probably freeze over before that happened. The pair could be as bad as each other when it came to telling you absolutely nothing.

Sam decided it wasn't worth going home and made her way to her quarters to try sleeping for a couple of hours.

Teal'c was okay, that was the important thing, she told herself, getting some small comfort from the fact. She'd talk to Daniel about it later and might even have a word or two with Teal'c. The general himself was probably the last person on earth she would end up discussing her frustrations with. He was exasperating but she was used to it.

For Carter, sleep was annoyingly conspicuous by its absence that morning.

* * *

Rodgers heard the door lock behind the two men and struggled with his bonds again to no avail.

He couldn't believe it. Not worth the trouble after everything he had done? How could O'Neill think that?

They couldn't just leave him. They couldn't discard him like trash, treat him with such contempt. An important man like him had earned the right to something better. He was an artist at his craft after all but these men had snubbed him as if he was nothing. Surely, they were going to do something to him? He simply could not fathom what was going on.

It was dark and cold in this place. He hadn't had anything to eat or drink for quite some time now and, maybe even worse, had to suffer sitting in his own pee - evidence of his final abasement. If they left him for long enough, no doubt it wouldn't be the last time he would wet his pants. He'd probably crap himself too. There was nowhere else to go was there? It was degrading and, if O'Neill ever returned, Rodgers was sure this fact would give him a little thrill.

He didn't know how long he had been there and how long he might remain there. Silent, lonely, muscles aching from being tied in the same position for hours.

He had expected something more from a man like O'Neill. Revenge, a good thrashing, something he understood. He'd seen ruthless killer instinct in his enemy's eyes and had believed he would act on that impulse. Instead, he'd got… To be honest, he wasn't sure exactly what he'd got. Anything but this might have been preferable – anything on his level.

O'Neill seemed to think he was superior, that leaving him untouched made him so. This notion astonished Rodgers. He wanted to meet the man on his own terms but his adversary had refused. So much for his plans as an arch-manipulator, he thought.

Usually, Rodgers would have been inclined to disagree with O'Neill's apparent assessment that he was the better man. These events, however, had filled him with doubt. O'Neill had won, or so it appeared to him. He didn't like that one little bit. He had believed he was better than everyone else. Now, O'Neill's disdain had shaken his feelings of self-worth to the core.

Overwhelmed by what had happened, tears formed in his eyes and rolled down his cheeks - tears of desolation, trepidation and his own insignificance. His enemy had broken him and would probably celebrate that victory.

Peter Rodgers was afraid. Very alone and afraid.

TBC

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story is for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. This story may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. Copyright © 2009 Su Freund


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